


Not the Same

by arminblossom (syrren)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - The Lord of the Rings, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 30,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrren/pseuds/arminblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles reflecting over recent events and the relationship between the characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles that were prompted can be found in my new drabble series, [Aster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1135375/chapters/2295298).
> 
> A while ago I offered to write SnK drabbles for people to reblog [my post](http://askshyarmin.tumblr.com/post/67740220613/reblog-this-by-november-30th-and-i-will-write-an), and this is the result. I know I owe roughly 400 drabbles so this will be updated rather often.
> 
> If you like the writing style feel free to drop me a prompt at [my new Tumblr account](http://szyntera.tumblr.com/).

            Before leaving for his new place in the military, Armin had Squad Leader Hanji let him see Annie once more. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to speak to her, see her again for a long time, and he knew that there was a chance that he would never hear the blonde girl’s voice ever again, never see her open her icy blue eyes ever again. But he went anyway.

            Setting the lantern down on the ground before Annie, he nodded to Hanji, asking for a minute alone, and then turned back to her. The situation with the blonde was probably one of the strangest things he had witnessed in his life. This was _Annie_ he was seeing, trapped in crystal, frozen in time. This was a friend of his, someone he had known during his trainee days. This was a human being, someone complete with emotions and thoughts.

            And yet, how could be so sure of anything? His _best friend_ had turned out to be a titan shifter, and in that light, who was he to judge the girl? By her personality and coldness. By her great sense of self preservation. To his logic, this was no human, but a monster hidden behind a mask; this was something that tried to kill Eren. Something that who hid itself for self-preservation.

            “I don’t understand, Annie. I know deep down you’re a good person. You let it show sometimes. I don’t think you realize that you do, but you do. You can be really nice sometimes, someone anyone would want to call friend. You offered to help Eren! You’re a good person when everything is stable,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows. He wasn’t one to talk to himself, but this wasn’t the case. Whether Annie could hear him not, to him, this was a one-sided conversation, but a conversation regardless.

            “You’ve always come off as cold, distant, but a nice person. And now, now you show that you’ve just been fending for yourself. You stole Marco’s equipment to hide yourself from being caught. You killed the titans to hide the secrets you carry of them. All this time you’ve been working for someone else, like when you tried to capture Eren. And even then, here you are, protecting yourself. To someone who didn’t stop to really look at you, you probably look like a cold-hearted monster,” the strategist chuckled.

            “But I know, or I think I do at least, a bit more about whom you are. And you’re not the same, not the same as how I thought you were. You’re probably different from how we all believe you are. It must be hard, being a titan shifter and part of that organization. You worked so hard to catch Eren and in the end you were defeated. And now you’re stuck here, behind all that crystal protection of yours. We can’t touch you, but you’re here. But the burden it all must have been before, and it explains a lot I could never understand about you.

            “I think you’re scared. It’s why you were so frantic to escape when Eren was coming for you. You were scared to fail. You don’t want anyone to defeat you. There’s probably so much more behind this. But I would be a bit surprised if I was wrong.”

            He paced back and forth the room a couple of times, finally stopping next to Annie once more, facing away from her.

            “Bertholdt worries about you, you know. I just thought you’d like to know,” he informed her quietly. In the end, even he didn’t have the heart to admit the position he had last seen Bertholdt in.

            “Listen, I may never see you again, so I just wanted to tell you this now. A lot has happened recently, and I’m now beginning to realize a lot more about you. But, looking back, I should have talked to you before this. I should have asked you how you even got Marco’s equipment. I should have asked you to talk to me during our trainee days. I should have not regarded you so negatively during Stohess. You were just doing your job. And if I hadn’t, maybe you wouldn’t be lost to the world now. Maybe you’d help us, or we could help you, and we’d try and get to the bottom of this. But as it is now, I can’t help but feel as though if someone had reached out to you before, you wouldn’t have withdrawn like this. Even if it made your daily life a bit easier, and nothing else, we could have done something,” he sighed.

            He turned to leave, halting at the door only to say quietly, “I’m sorry we failed you as a friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment from person who this drabble was written for:
> 
> "Omfg this was perfect. I’ve been wanting to read something like this for so long! And I completely agree with you too. Thank you so much for writin this ahhh!!!!"


	2. A Hair Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highschool AU

Despite the fair weather outside, Armin was spending the afternoon in the school library, thumbing his way through a couple of thick books. He was one of the only students there, and the only one currently seated at the long table splitting the room in half. Just having started in on his reading, he was not yet deep enough in concentration to not notice the people around him.

            The few others around him he knew to be regulars in the library. There was the tall brunette girl in her last year with thick framed glasses, always so excited to dig through books. Then there was the even taller dark haired boy who spent most of his time scanning the titles and then quickly walking out of the library to go hang out with that blond jock on the football team. He knew there was another girl here; he had seen her enter after him, a short girl with long blonde hair, a little bit smaller than him. She was probably there as often as he was, always sifting through books, but she never sat at the table, simply stayed within the rows of books, so he had never had a chance to talk to her. The blonde was in a couple of his classes and he had noticed her spending time with the rather intimidating girl who always did so well in PE class.

            Speaking of the jock girl, he caught her stepping into the room from the corner of his eye, probably looking for her friend. Keeping his head down, he tried to go back to reading his book so that he didn’t attract any attention, when the brunette walked up to him rather suddenly.

            “Ah, Christa! There you are!” the brunette called, coming up from behind Armin and clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, are you coming with me to watch football practice today or not? Really, you need to get out of this library sometime.”

            “I’m not…” he started, but trailed off when he looked up to meet the intimidating girl’s eyes. His face reddened, realising that he must have just been mistaken for the blonde girl.

            “Wait, you’re not Christa. Dumb boy, trying to look like her. Where is she?” the brunette demanded, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.

            “Ymir!” the blonde girl cried from the back of the room. She must have heard the conversation because she looked rather distraught as she made her way towards the brunette. “We spend so much time together and you can’t even tell that that’s not me!”

            “It’s not my fault this guy looks a lot like you. Usually guys don’t look so much like girls. Caught me off guard,” Ymir shrugged, looking away disinterestedly.

            “Never mind, I’ll just spend the rest of the afternoon here. I’m not that interested in football anyway,” Christa sighed, still a bit put off by Ymir’s mistake.

            “Fine, I’ll come and get you later. Have fun with your boy look-a-like,” Ymir said, tugging her backpack over her shoulder and heading off towards the football field. Christa looked over at Armin, who was sitting there rather stunned, and took the seat next to him, not being able to ignore the fact that he really did look like her.

            “You’re in a couple of my classes, aren’t you? I’m Christa,” the blonde smiled, putting her books on the table. “Sorry for Ymir. I mean, we do look a lot alike but I’m pretty sure you’re a boy.”

            “Thanks,” he replied, teasingly sarcastic. “But, yeah, we have history and math together. I’m Armin.”

            “So you’re the boy who people keep mixing me up with!”

            “You mean this has happened before to you, too?” Armin raised an eyebrow and frowned. He was used to people calling out the fact that he looked like a girl, but it was only recently that people had started calling him by the name ‘Christa’ accidentally. He knew they were referring to the blonde girl but this was the first time that he had actually been able to confront the girl about the mix up.

            “Yeah, sometimes Reiner and the other guys end up calling me ‘Armin’. It’s usually when I start talking about the books I read and such. This has happened to you, too, huh?”

            “Yep, Reiner and the other guys, same thing only they call me ‘Christa’. I’ve been meaning to say something, knock some sense into them but they always wave it off before I can. You would think someone would eventually realise that your hair is a lot longer than mine,” the blond said in exasperation, rolling his eyes.

            “I can see where we’re kind of alike, in looks and the fact that we’re bookworms. But you’re different from me in interests, motives, socially. It really gets annoying when you’re mistaken for someone almost completely different.”

            “Yeah, I hear you on that. Though, I’ve been thinking, and there might be a way for them to tell us apart,” Armin said, biting his thumbnail.

            A few minutes more of brainstorming and they had come to an agreement. And with that, Armin came to school the next day with his hair temporarily dyed black. He didn’t want to have Christa dye it when she seemed so attached to her blonde hair and he didn’t really care so he took on the task of the experiment. Thinking ahead just in case, he only used temporary dye so that he could wash it out if the plan failed.

            “Hey, Christa, dyed your hair black! Looks good on you, sweetheart!” Reiner had catcalled once he walked in the door.

            “Well?” the girl asked when Armin sat beside her gloomily in the library after school.

            “It was a fail. There goes six bucks for nothing,” he sighed, head in hands.

            “So…plan b then?” Christa suggested.

            “Looks like it.”

            Wigs these days came cheap from the Internet, and in a couple of weeks they were ready to implement their next plan. Meeting with Christa before school the morning, Armin handed her the short blond wig he had procured from eBay. She slipped it on, and it was fair fit and almost the shade of Christa’s hair.

            “So you wear that all day and at the end of the last class you can take it off and it will finally come to everyone else what the difference between us is,” the blond said, making sure they had the rather simple plan down.

            They met once more before the last class to tally up the number of times they had been mistaken for each other.

            Leaning back against the wall, Armin recounted, “I had a few people trip up, but that’s normal. It’s you who probably felt the difference. Am I right?”

            “I would say so. Most of the people who talked to me today did a double take. Though they don’t consciously realise it, your hair is darker _and_  shorter than mine. They must have been subconsciously confused when they saw my hair shade on your hairstyle,” she observed, her voice even.

            “Weird that they only notice certain things,” Armin responded, perplexed.

            “Well, the time has come, classmates!” Christa called out just before the bell rang but after the teacher had stopped talking. Armin quickly walked to her side, smirking.

            “I would like to announce that your confusion is over,” he continued.

            “ _I’m_  Christa,” the girl announced, pulling off the wig. Just as the bell rang those who had been getting them confused about the two finally registered the difference they couldn’t put their finger on before.

            “So please stop mixing us up,” Armin finished. The blonds then walked over to the library, as had become their routine and sat at the table.

            “Hey, Christa!” Ymir sang as she came in for her friend, patting Armin on the head instead. The two groaned and looked at each other.

            “So the plans failed anyway,” Christa said.

            “Looks like it. I guess they don’t really want to bother with it,” Armin shrugged, if a bit disappointed that all their planning had been for naught.

            “Oh well, at least we made a friend out of this whole thing, right?” the girl smiled.

            “Yeah, that’s true,” he grinned back.

            After that, it didn’t matter as much that they both were mistaken for each other; they were too busy sharing books that had read and various interests.


	3. The Ocean

            Outside the glass-paned window, the world was a flurry of white. The clouds overhead were thick, a swirling grey mass, unchanging now that all light had drained from the world with sunset. Even with a candle held up to the window, no one could see far out into the world, about ten feet at most. The ground was already blanketed and everything was quiet, only interrupted by a small, cackling fire and the voices of the soldiers.

            “Come on, Jaeger, can’t you get the fire started? It’s cold in here,” Jean complained, stamping his feet on the ground and blowing on his hands.

            “You want to go outside and get more wood? I don’t think so. Most of the wood we have is wet, and we don’t exactly have a whole lot else. Unless you want to burn those precious books of Armin’s, but I don’t think you’d live through the night if you did that,” Eren chuckled, poking at the fire every so often.

            From where he sat a few feet away, Armin’s head snapped up, his eyes wide as he looked at the two boys. “Stay away from my books, thank you. Besides, I’ve seen both of you read before. I’d stop joking about this if I were you,” the blond smirked.

            “Woah, I only look at the illustrations you show me. But  _Jean_? Really now? You were only pretending to be smart,” Eren protested. From behind his leather bound tome Armin chuckled, amused at how easy it was to get them started. Eren and Jeans’ fights weren’t always the most enjoyable, they sometimes even got to be annoying, but at least their passion offered some entertainment throughout the dreary days.

            “Well at least I can even read, Jaeger,” Jean fumed, stepping closer to the brunet.

            “Do we stop them?” Armin asked quietly as Mikasa slipped into the seat beside him.

            “They’re both idiots but I’m pretty sure they’re harmless, even in a fight,” the brunette answered, peering over Armin’s shoulder to see the book he was reading.

            “As long as they don’t get blood on the floor. I’m not interested in cleaning it up,” the blond deadpanned. He scooted the book over to the side so that she could read the page. “Since we didn’t have to go to class or train or anything today I’ve decided to reread the books we have on the ocean.”

            “So have you found anything new about it?”

            “Not really, no, we’ve lost most of the information and at this point the texts we do have are starting to get redundant,” he sighed. He knew he should be grateful to even have this information, when anything on the outside world was taboo, but he couldn’t help but become frustrated when he couldn’t find out anything more. It all seemed like a dead end nowadays.

            “Then how about we make up some of it ourselves? That way we all can say we’ve seen the ocean, at least in our minds. You go first, Armin,” the brunette suggested, prompting the blond to ramble on about the ocean as he used to like to do so often.

            “Well, from what I’ve read, I think the ocean is magnificent. It must be really wide, and deep, deeper into the earth than seems possible. So deep that at the very bottom its pitch black because no sunlight reaches it. And the surface of the water is imperfect but beautiful all the same; choppy and wavy but so mesmerizing to watch. And it would be a blue to match the sky and crystal clear in shallow water. When the sun is up the water will sparkle with the light and practically glow, alive, and when the sun sets it will reflect the brilliant oranges and deep rubies and blushing pinks of the sky,” the blond started, his blue eyes wide and bright.

            “After everything you’ve told me, I bet the seashore is just as pretty. The sand wouldn’t be like that hard dirt up by our lake. It would be a tan, almost white, and soft under our feet. And it would be littered with those seashells you told us about it, Armin. And I bet the most perfect day could be sent just sitting on the beach watching the tide come in,” Mikasa continued. She had listened to Eren and Armin talk about the ocean for years, and it was only natural that she had constructed her own take on the so far away dream.

            From beside the fireplace, Eren and Jean ceased their squabbling and joined the two at the table. The taller of the two boys pulled the book over to him to read the passages on the ocean while the brunet leaned back in his chair. No matter how many times he and Armin had talked about the ocean, he never tired of discussing it or any other feature of the outside world the blond had researched about. In fact, a good portion of their conversations were started by him.

            “One time you told me how seashells are the homes of little sea creatures but you never told me about them. You said how the shells were all different shapes and colours. Like one type is long and shaped like a cone, kind of like how you draw trees,” Eren chuckled while Armin mock scowled for a moment, “and those can be dark brown and pink. And there’s another one that is flat and wide, looks a lot like a fan, and those are usually light coloured. I don’t know what those creatures that live in fan seashells look like, but I bet the ones in the cone seashells look like ants or slugs or something like that. They’re probably all slimy because they live in the ocean but I can’t imagine them getting far without legs, so I’d like to think they do have legs.”

            “Thanks for your, uh, beautiful description, Eren,” Armin managed to say through his laughter.

            “Are the creatures really slimy, Armin?” Mikasa asked, looking at the blond.

            “I would think so, since fish and frogs are slimy,” he answered, his grin fading.

            “Hey! My turn! I don’t know much about this ocean. Not as much as you guys, at least. But now that I’m stuck with you weirdoes I might as well throw in my two pence,” Jean started, raising his eyebrows in indignation. “Since the ocean has tons of salt in it, I bet the fish are a lot different. And since oceans seem to always be in sunny, tropical places, the fish are probably really colourful and elaborate. There are probably pink and orange and white ones, ones that have all the colours of the rainbow. Perhaps there is even a fish with tails that fan out like a bird wings. However they look, I couldn’t imagine them being the dull silver fish we get. They’d all be so beautiful, and there’d even be one orange like the sunset. That was Marco’s favourite colour, you know. If we find one the shade of the sunset we should name it after him.”

            “The angelfish,” Armin answered softly after a moment of silence. Jean looked up at him and smiled.

            “That’s perfect,” the boy sighed. “The angelfish.”

            “So is that how you envision the ocean to look like then, Armin? I mean, the ocean must be even more beautiful to you now, right?” the brunette asked, tilting her head.

            “Yeah, it’s even more beautiful now,” Armin grinned, placing his hand on top of the brunette’s in thanks. “Thank you, guys! And you, Mikasa!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment from person who this drabble was written for:
> 
> "No no. Thank you! This is adorable!. So thank you thank you thank you!"


	4. Gold and Hazel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reincarnation AU

               Six months to the day. Six months since he had had a dream that never left his mind. Six months since he had formed a clear, definitive goal, for the first time in his life. Six months since he decided that he had to find the boy with the passionate eyes.

                Transparent wisps of white disappeared into the air, falling from his berry red lips. The sky above him was thick with clouds and the air was crisp and cold. Shivering and reprimanding himself for not grabbing a scarf earlier, Armin pulled his military jacket closer around his thin body. Keeping his eyes down, he copped a seat on the white wall running in front of his high school, where he sat every morning before class. He swallowed a gasp as the chill from the concrete wall seeped through the thin material of his jeans and grimaced. He enjoyed the cold; he just didn’t want to be outside when it was.

                “Honestly, you have a jacket and boots on, how are you still cold?” his friend asked him, smirking and shaking his head. The blond looked over to the brunet and raised an eyebrow.

                “Shut up, Marco, at least I’m not the one who fell asleep in class yesterday,” Armin shot back. The two joked often, about each other’s faults, everything best friends did, and it was always taken lightly as the other replied with some other observation dripping with sarcasm and sass.

                “Hey, I have an excuse for that one. You know I’m still having those weird dreams. You’re just jealous because you’ve only had one,” Marco replied seriously, grimly. The smaller boy turned his head, glancing away. Not this topic again, not this. He bit his thumbnail as the bell for their first class rang.

                “Oi, don’t do that. Try and survive without me. Even though I know that’ll be impossible.” The brunet pulled Armin’s hand away from his lips and waved as he slipped into the slow moving crowd, leaving Armin alone.

                He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and made his way to class, absentmindedly. Six months, and not a morning went by where he didn’t think of that dream. And Marco knew it, because he went through the same thing himself. The two had been best friends since they were about five years old, when the brunet’s family moved in next door to the Arlelts. Ever since then, they told each other everything, including the bizarre dreams and their hopes for the future. Usually Armin was the one to excitedly arrive on Marco’s doorstep in the golden afternoon, new book clutched in his hands and excited grin plastered on his face. Those were the days when they would talk for hours about the world, all about the places they wanted to see and things they wanted to do. But it was Marco who would arrive announced at the Arlelt’s door, out of breath and in desperate need to talk to Armin. He had been having dreams for years about faceless monsters and the boy with golden eyes, and they were always burned deeply into his mind. When Marco first started having them, Armin didn’t know what to say, why his friend was having dreams, nightmares, so he listened and would do his best to comfort the brunet. After a couple of years, though, one of the books the blond received mentioned the existence of past lives, how people could be reincarnated and remember their previous lives. He presented it to Marco and after that, they figured that explained the brunet’s mysterious dreams.

                Armin’s theory explained Marco’s experiences perfectly; there were no pieces of the puzzle out of place. So, through the years they carefully went through every detail of Marco’s dreams and wrote it down, trying to write down the events in order. The blond never quite understood it, how the other was remembering such memories so clearly, but he was amazed nonetheless that such a thing was happening. That was, he never understood it until  _he_  wound up on Marco’s doorstep, trembling like a leaf and his face white as a ghost six months ago.

                “That’s it, that’s what my dreams are like,” Marco had nodded solemnly after Armin related his dream. “It’s blurry in a lot of places but I always remember the golden eyes of that boy. And now you’ve dreamed of him too.”

                “No, no I didn’t dream of him, though. The one you dream about has golden eyes, you say. Mine has hazel eyes, passionate,” Armin protested sadly.

                “Oh, still, we’re probably just dreaming of two different people from the same time. I wonder who they could be,” Marco smiled.

                “Ah, I don’t even know if this is right. I’ve always wanted to remember my past life like you can, maybe it’s just a fabrication of my imagination. But it just  _felt so real_.” The blond looked up at Marco sadly after that, his knees curled up to his chest. But Marco only shook his head and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

                “If it was real to you, then it was real. I can’t imagine it just being a fabricated memory. You were bound to get a dream like this anyway, since I’m pretty sure we were friends in our former life. It’s just that I’m the one who remembers this stuff while you figure out why, you know. We’re in this together.”

                The blond smiled to himself at the memory as he slid into his desk. After that the day went quickly and after the final bell rang he waited in front of the school for Marco. When the brunet approached, he was shocked to see him beaming, a certain light in his eyes that he had never seen before.

                “Marco, what—“ he started.

                “I found him! Armin, I saw him. We got some new exchange students and the golden eyed boy was there! The guy from your memory was there too, the one with passionate, hazel eyes. Come on, hurry,” Marco rushed, pulling on Armin’s hand. The blond raced after the brunet, registering slowly that they had found the friends that they had taken with them in memory from so long ago.

                Six months of waiting had paid off. Six months of those hazel eyes haunting him, the boy he knew so well, finally within his grasp. This was it, his dream was fulfilled, his wondering at an end. Finally both he and Marco could have some peace. They had found the ones missing from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment by person who this was written for:
> 
> "Thaaank yoouuu soo muuchh! ;w; I love it a lot!"
> 
> AN: I may be expanding on this drabble for a full reincarnation fic for Eremin and JeanMarco.


	5. A Family

            His hands wrapped around the warm mug of tea, Armin leaned against the window. His knees tucked up to his chest and his forehead resting against the cold glass, he sighed and looked down at the leather bound book beside him. He took a drag of the tea and set it aside, in favour of the book being his primary focus instead. The flickering candle on the table beside him cast light on the small words scrawled on the pages and through the window to the white world beyond. The clouds overhead were dark and thick, an eerie grey that almost glowed in the dark. The rest of the world showed only snow and beyond that, solid shadow.

                Snapping out of his reverie, he set his eyes back on the book in front of him, thumbing through the leaflets to the page he had left off on. One side of the page was thick with ink, bright colours arranged to show a portrait of a small family gathered around a decorated tree and surrounded by wrapped presents. Yes, a small family, there was the mother and father, their small son, and the grandfather sitting in the distance, a book clutched in the man’s hands.

                “Agh, doesn’t leave me, does it? Never mind that, such a situation is impossible nowadays. Come on; get your head back into knowledge. Emotions won’t do you good now,” he chided himself quietly. He pushed the book over to see the other page better, the one scrawled with ink. “’Across the world there are a couple of religions that call for the giving off gifts during the first month of winter. One tradition called for the decorating of a tree inside the home while another called for a golden candelabrum.’”

                After reading the selection aloud for a few minutes to himself quietly, he flipped through the following pages, trying to escape the long gone traditions of families, to no avail. Pushing the book away completely, he dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “I know it’s supposedly holiday season but how did I think this was a good idea? Holidays may have been possible centuries ago but not now. There are no such things as families anymore.” Pulling the blanket off his shoulder, he stood up and kneeled under his bed, pulling out his grandfather’s hat. Leaning back against the bedframe, he set the hat down on his raised knees and sighed.

                Over the years Armin had learned to refrain from mourning over his losses. He still missed his family, but he hadn’t mourned for them in years. The pain had numbed, he found his mind wandering from his lost family and rarely finding its way back. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he actually missed his family, or the idea of a family. The idea of people who supported and loved each other, always there for each other. The idea of a stable home. In the dusty old books he frequented, there were oftentimes mention of family, of the future couples had together in their dreams. When he was little, it had gotten his hopes up and set his heart to expecting a future exactly like the ones in the illustrations. But now these bright coloured drawings and sweetly toned words of a warm home to come to, complete with an adoring family and perhaps even a lovely wife and children to be proud of, filled him with longing. He was feeling his childhood slip away, all of the dreams filled to the brink with wonders and friends and love vanish, his life become nothing more than war and grief. Hell, his happy memories of late included learning that his best friend survived the Battle of Trost after all and the dull days of Jean and Sasha and the others simply joking around. This realisation simply felt wrong to him. What is life when it is being weighed down so heavily?

                In a different life, perhaps his fondest memory would have been one identical to the scene portrayed in the book. His grandfather would be sitting in the background, waiting patiently to spark an interesting conversation of the wonders of the world; but not dead from being forced on the Retrieval Operation. His parents would be sitting on either side of him, grinning and pushing forward presents to the others and holding hands so lovingly; but not lost from venturing outside the walls. And he would be the boy in the very front, his blue eyes shining and his face covered in a healthy blush as he ripped open brightly coloured paper to find treasured gifts; but not in the military, void of family and a happy life. In a different life, perhaps his dreams would actually come true. He would see the ocean sparkle under the scarlet sunlight and learn what truly was in that vast water; instead of being stuck behind the walls, scrounging for books about the ocean. Perhaps he would even travel the world with Eren just like they had dreamed.

                “Grandfather, how did you do it? How did you leave me behind with a determined face? I can’t bring myself to believe that you ever faltered on the trek outside to your death. There’s no way you would have shown weakness; you were always so brave. I used to admire that, but now I can keep a straight face when my friends die. Now I can lie to a person to hurt them, for my own purposes. I know so much more about sacrifice, Grandfather, and I’m torn between believing I’m a monster for losing the emotions and being proud that I now understand this world. And yet, I don’t think it’s healthy to understand this insane world; it must come with costs to your own innocence. And it has,” Armin related. He knew he was technically talking to himself, and that he hadn’t talked to his grandfather like this in years, but in his loneliness he fell back into the habit.

                “I just… I just wonder what it would have been like if none of this had happened and we were still a family,” he whispered. His thoughts were chasing each other in circles, from his desiring a home once more to his realisation of how much he had changed morally. To think he understood sacrifice in youth… He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead against the battered old hat. His mind started to go blank as a desolate feeling settled over him, smothering him, in loneliness and the feeling of abandonment, in sorrow and the sharp pang of loss, in the dripping leads of what could have been.

                “A-Armin?” Eren called softly from the doorway. In his arms he clutched a box of decorations the blond had told him he’d need if they were going to celebrate the holidays a few days previously. Armin didn’t actually think Eren would remember or want to pull together everything they needed for celebration, so when he looked up he was surprised.

                “Eren… You…” he tried to start, too stunned to find the words. He tried to shake himself awake to the comprehension that his best friend had listened to what he had wanted to do for the winter, of his ideas that a festive time could raise the spirits of everyone. He didn’t think the brunet had listened even, but here he was when Armin needed him, holiday decorations filling the box to the brim.

                “Armin, are you okay? You only have your grandfather’s hat out when you’re…” Eren asked, eyebrows creased. He placed the box down and quickly sat down next to the blond, flinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. “I know I was late getting the decorations but I have it all ready now. I even got some of the others to help out. Come on, Mikasa and Jean are waiting for us.”

                “Really? We’re going to celebrate the holidays just like in my book?” Armin asked, eyes wide. He set the hat down on his bed and snatched up his book. He opened the tome to the page with the illustration of the family for the brunet to see. Eren leaned forward and tapped his lips, thinking for a second and memorising how the decorations were set before looking back up at the shorter boy.

                “No, we’re not going to celebrate like they did. They did this all wrong, everything is so plain. Look, even the parents look disinterested in the whole thing. We’re going to celebrate this season a lot better than they did. Everything is going to be brighter and merrier and we’re all going to be a lot happier than they could ever be,” Eren grinned, pointing back to the box.

                “But we’re not a family like they are,” the blond pointed out quietly, looking away.

                Eren rolled his eyes and tore the book from Armin’s grasp. He tapped on the illustration. “They’re not a family. As I said, the parents obviously don’t care. They’re just a bunch of people who have to spend a day together due to obligations that come with being blood related. Sure, the grandfather looks happy enough to be with his grandson, but come on; the parents are too into each other for this. It’s not a family, not like we are. We chose to be friends and celebrate together because we actually care about. Now stop worrying about blood and hurry up before Mommy Mikasa gets mad for keeping them waiting.”

                “We… are a family, aren’t we?” Armin whispered, more to himself. He looked back up at Eren, his best friend of so many years, and thought back to Mikasa and Jean, who felt just as much like family to him. He really did have a family all along, he wasn’t alone, it had just slipped his mind when the books dictated what a family was. He nodded to himself and hugged the brunet, apologising as the brunet held him tightly.

                “Just don’t forget who your real family is. You know we’ll always be one, Armin,” Eren beamed. He slipped the book back into the blonde’s hand and held the other before having to pick up the box. He blew out the candle and the two joined Mikasa and Jean to start decorating the rooms, others joining in as they continued together through the night.


	6. A Rose Among Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reincarnation AU
> 
> May be continued

A messenger bag tossed over his shoulder, he set off from the cafe he worked at towards his small apartment. Red leaf trees lined the road, covering the pale blue sky with a crimson canopy above. The sun was starting to set and from where he stood, he was cloaked in shadow and under the light of the darkening sky. Beneath his feet dead leaves crunched and below that the damp sidewalk, still recovering from the rainstorm the night before. Not paying attention to his surroundings, he cast his eyes up towards the sky, drowning out reality.

"You know, I really can't imagine where you go sometimes, but it seems as though you see worlds far beyond your own," a man in a fabricated scene told him. He was always getting lost in little imaginary scenarios when he starts daydreaming, always relating to what he was thinking or doing in one way or another. He didn't know who the man of his dream was, but he reminded him of home.

Jean paused in his reverie for a second, considering how different he felt from how he did just hours ago. The cafe atmosphere always kept him busy, distracted from the rest of his problems, and he was always a little lost after stepping away from the noise and laughter. But this empty feeling spreading in his subconscious struck him, an old feeling he was well acquainted with. It had inflicted itself upon him before, empty and cold and desolate, but he never got used to it, and it never eased up on him completely. It was always coming back, skipping back into the shadows for a while, but then striking back just as hard. And it always came so unexpected. It made him alert, weary, always expecting this liquid sadness to return, no matter how hard he hoped it away.

"So this is it, huh? You're back. Damn depression," he snarled halfheartedly under his breath. He heaved a sigh and unlocked the door to his apartment, flinging his coat and keys into their usual spots and locking the door behind him. He collapsed on the couch and looked up, not bothering to turn on the television or music or his laptop like he usually did.

Not quite able to force himself up, he remained still. His mind wandered, never settling on anything concrete. The man and crimson leaves flashed in his mind, his day at the cafe, the holidays coming up, school, everything in his life, and the entire time the dreams danced just at the edge of his conscious. That is, they stayed at the edge until he accidentally let them into his attention. He always did so well in fighting them back, ignoring them, but in this state, he simply sat back and let them play their course.

They had haunted him, these dreams all collected from years gone by. The collection had started when he was a child, horrific nightmares that woke him, that left him shaken for weeks. When it continued, his parents invested in pills for him, his psychologist labeling it 'insomnia' idly. His prescription to the pills was still good, he still went to a psychologist to try and erase the pain of the memories. But nothing ever worked. To him, there seemed to be no cure, because the only person he knew could help him, didn't exist.

"Marco." The name slipped off his tongue easily. He had known it since middle school, and there wasn't a day that it didn't imprint itself in his mind. That was it, Marco, the person who could fix everything. Now only if he existed. He seemed so real in all of Jean's dreams. Marco. Short raven black hair and cheerful dark eyes and a smile on ruby lips. Marco. A sweet temperance and a calm understanding. Comforting. Marco. The person who could chase away Jean's nightmares, put an end to the horror, the gut wrenching fear, the cause of his ever present depression.

But another name crossed his mind just as often, one he was terrified to even whisper. Faceless figures far larger than him, humanoid and bloodthirsty for no good purpose. Murderers. Titans. His dreams were filled with them, always threatening his existence and those whom he loved. He didn't know much about them, but he was full aware of the peril they posed to those around them. And he was all too conscious of them being the cause of one death that shook his entire being to the core. These monsters had taken Marco's life. And though in this life no such things as titans existed, no such monsters could touch him, the world in which they thrived was real enough to him. The titans and Marco, Marco's death, were just as real to him as the coffee table before him.

And it haunted him, asleep and awake.

Days pass in a daze. The pills for insomnia change him, make his sleep less fulfilling than it already was, even if the nightmares are gone. And though the titans drive him insane, he can never last long without begging for a dream with Marco in it. The little orange bottle lays untouched, and though he feels terrible from a lack of sleep, seeing the boy in his dreams smile keeps him well enough to keep going.

Or, in theory at least. This cure to his nightmares doesn't exist. He's simply a fabrication of his imagination, just like the man that walked with him a few days before. An over active imagination to compensate for depression for insomnia. That's all. And the days get longer. The liquid sadness grows worse. And he is barely functioning.  
And this is why he finds himself tiptoeing the edge of a building on New Year's Day. He's aware of what he's doing, and more conscious of the fact that his love from another world, another life, shall never save him. A remote spot, a shady alley so no one tries to talk him down. Closing his eyes, he steps closer to the edge, unaware of the passerby below recognizing the silhouette against the sky above him.

"Jean!" a black haired man calls from the stairway, gasping for air as he rushes towards the other. Jean registered the familiar voice from his dreams and stepped back from the edge, spinning around.

"Marco," he whispered, tears beginning to stain his pale face. "You've found me."


	7. The Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU

**AN: The sweaters mentioned are actual sweaters. You can find Connie and Sasha's sweaters[here](http://i.ebayimg.com/t/OH-CHRISTMAS-TREE-cOUPLES-mATCHED-SET-LIGHT-UP-UGLY-CHRISTMAS-SWEATERS-XL-L-/00/s/NzY4WDgyMQ==/z/cf0AAOxy3NBSeE70/%24\(KGrHqJ,!lwFJYom3v6iBSeE70U\(5!~~60_35.JPG) and Ymir and Christa's sweaters [here](http://thumbs2.ebaystatic.com/d/l225/m/mz_IPn3R0FrTxS7rAsEt4eQ.jpg).**

       

        The advent of snow and Christmas being just around the corner prompted the usual holiday parties before everyone left for break. For the particular group of friends presented, these were usually rather uneventful, the party being small and focused mainly on light conversation. Well, that it, it was uneventful except for one competition that had become tradition over the years. And it may sound immature, even foolish, but this long awaited tournament held every year was none other than the ugly sweater competition.

                 Everyone participated in it. Jean and Marco would arrive in matching sweaters, and the Shinganshina trio always had a certain colour scheme. Reiner and Bertholdt always completed their outfits with reindeer hats, and even Annie would dig up some poorly themed sweater. But the tournaments were always won by either Ymir and Christa or Sasha and Connie. After those two pairings exclusively winning the contest every year, the others started wearing the worst sweaters they could find simply for tradition and fun, but for the four, it was much more serious.

                “Can you put down the food for one minute and help me look for sweaters, Sasha?” Connie sighed exasperated. He stepped forward to try and pry the plate out of the brunette’s hands but thought better of it when she sat up straight, tense. Connie pointed at the computer screen once more, tapping on two matching Christmas sweaters. The ones he specifically pointed out were distastefully decorated with candy canes and garlands with a half of a Christmas tree on the edge of each, so that when the sweaters were put together it would make a whole.

                “Those are the ugliest things I have ever seen so it looks like we have our sweaters,” Sasha commented, her nose wrinkled in disgust for a second before laughing. The two high fived each other and Connie promptly set about ordering the sweaters, due to arrive before the party.

                “Hey, Ymir, did you still want to look through Christmas sweaters with me?” Christa asked the tall girl sweetly, scrolling through Google just as Connie had done.

                “We do it together every year,” Ymir snorted. “Can’t imagine that changing this year. Let me see what you got.”

                Christa leaned to the side so that the brunette could inspect the sweaters she had found so far. The picture provided showed two sweaters, one red and the other white, exactly identical in ornaments. Crude drawings of Christmas trees stained the pockets and above those were an odd assortment of stars.

                “Can’t imagine anything worse than those, good job Christa,” Ymir smirked.

                And with those affairs set in order, the day of their get together arrived. This year it was Marco’s turn to host the party, and he spared no expense in decorating the entire residence from top to bottom with decorations. The hallway featured the hung mistletoe and in the centre of the living room was largely taken up by a brightly adorned tree. Chips and pizza covered the dining table, hopefully enough to satisfy Sasha, and on the living room table there was placed the trophy that the winners of the competition held. The trophy had been added by Reiner a few years back when he decided that the affair needed to seem more official. For the past couple of years it had been held by Christa and Ymir, but with any luck, Connie and Sasha might just be claiming it.

                When everyone had arrived they gathered in the living room and awaited the verdict. The Shinganshina trio was decked in pink this year, and Jean and Marco wore sweaters with reindeer on them. Reiner and Bertholdt sported their antlers once more and Annie had found a sweater covered in snowflakes, perhaps fitting for the reputation she had earned herself. And when compliments had been exchanged, everyone looked to the two couples, and then at Reiner for his judgment.

                “Well, the split Christmas tree idea is pretty overdone and lame; and the identical sweaters look as though the creator hadn’t even tried. But, in terms of festiveness, lameness, and ugliness, I have to say Connie and Sasha won,” the blond declared after a while of pondering.

                A cheer escaped from both Sasha and Connie as they high fived each other and bumped hips, excitedly accepting the trophy from Reiner. After all that waiting, they had done it, they were back on top as champions of the ugly sweater competition, much to Ymir’s disgruntlement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments left by person this drabble was written for:
> 
> "Thank you so much! I wasn’t expecting to actually get anything. This was a sweet surprise to wake up to. （＾∇＾）"


	8. White Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pied Piper of Hamelin is mentioned in the story so here is a brief summary for those unfamiliar with the story:  
> The Pied Piper of Hamelin isn't the most popular story, but basically this town needs to get rid of rats, piper comes in and plays his pipe and leads all the rats away, the mayor then refuses to pay the piper, so the guy gets mad and leads all of the children of the town away, probably to their deaths. So, it’s a good metaphor for war as it leads young people (19 was the age you could go join the war in Britain) to their deaths, and they can't resist it.

                “What’s with all the headlines on European affairs?” Jean snorted, throwing the thick newspaper in his hand onto the table. He leaned back in his chair and tried to recount the articles featured in the previous weeks. The particular paper he had thrown away was the most recent, the announcement of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Marco leaned forward and snatched the paper off the article, scanning the black print quickly.

                “It looks like it’s just between the Balkan states, you know, Bosnia and those other countries we never hear about. England and Russia seem to be a bit upset, but I doubt it will affect us. As my parents told me, all of the great wars of the past are over, we live in peaceful times,” Marco shrugged, placing the paper back on the table disinterestedly.

                “You really believe that, Marco? That all of our wars are over?” Jean looked over inquisitively, a bit suspicious of whether the brunet really was this optimistic. But, from the look on his face, the freckled boy wholeheartedly believed that their world was at peace. Jean looked away from him and sighed, “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

                It was the beginning of July 1914, which showed well enough in the weather. All day the sun had shown brightly, lighting up the colourful blossoms that adorned the earth. Now in evening, the sky was streaked with red and orange and pink, the blue above darkening and the moon making its appearance. And out on the patio, Jean and Marco were enjoying the peace and quiet of their little world while they still could. School was now a distant memory and in its stead was a midsummer party due to take place in just a few short weeks. With Marco’s parents away for the night and his younger siblings asleep, the two had this world to themselves, and it was a moment never to forget.

                “So do you have any plans for after college, Marco? I mean, if Europe survives, of course,” Jean asked, turning dramatic at the end in insult to the newspaper. The brunet looked up from the daisy chain he had been absently making and furrowed his eyebrows.

                “Well, yeah, have you forgotten what we promised to do when we were younger? Come on, Jean, we’re going to win the scholarships offered so that we can attend college longer and get our doctorate’s degree. We’ll make a name for ourselves as the best doctors available in P. E. I. And by the time we’re old we’ll know we have served the people well,” Marco responded immediately, his dark eyes shining.

                “I didn’t notice a wife in your plan,” Jean pointed out after a few minutes.

                “Oh, well, I mean, sure, I suppose having a wife wouldn’t be that bad. I just haven’t found any girl I’m really interested in, you know.”

                “But you’re twenty-one now, Marco, I don’t think you can wait much longer if you want one of the girls with pretty hair,” Jean smirked.

                “Okay…” Marco sat quietly for a minute, only able to connect his friend’s statement to his commenting that Mikasa had pretty years a few years back. After a pause, in which Jean grew a tad embarrassed in how what he had just said sounded, the brunet finally spoke up once more. “I just don’t want a girl I can’t connect with. I’m sure I’ll meet her someday, I’m not in a hurry.”

                They spent the rest of the evening talking about other dreams of theirs, over how Jean wanted a home and family someday and Marco wanted to travel the world. It wasn’t until late that Jean managed to pull himself away and return home.

                After a couple of weeks of impatient waiting, the midsummer party arrived. Jean and Marco went together and everything went smoothly, with the brunet doing all the talking while the other enjoyed the tranquil evening. Well, tranquil, until Armin rushed in frantically, out of breath. He stopped in the dining hall where a majority of the party was gathered and called for attention.

                “Britain has just declared war on Germany! Word is we’re going to follow Great Britain into war,” he announced, provoking a good number of gasps, yelps, and even cheers from the crowd.

                “Yes! We’re going to defeat those Huns, men, don’t you doubt it!” Eren encouraged, knocking his chair back as he stood up. Armin and Mikasa rushed to his side to try and talk him out of doing anything rash like joining the battle and getting himself in trouble. But soon Reiner and a few of the others joined in on his excitement, while a few were left to the gut-wrenching horror as they saw death on the horizon.

                “So does this change any of you—Marco?” Jean turned to the brunet, but instead found the spot next to him empty. He looked up and immediately saw him sulking out the door, towards the outside, unnoticed. Jean raced after him and laid a hand on the older boy’s shoulder to turn him so that they faced each other. He knew Marco would be disappointed by the war, by the fact that the peace his parents promised was now broken, but he didn’t expect the tears that shone in his eyes.

                “Marco…”

                “I don’t want to go to war, Jean, and yet, I feel as though I shall follow the others into battle before the war is over. The Pied Piper is calling, Jean, and I don’t want to follow,” Marco replied quietly, his voice stable but laden with hurt and sorrow.

                “I…I’m sure it will be okay, Marco, really, nothing bad will happen. If Canada does follow Britain into war, it will be over before Christmas, we’ll all come home safe and sound with new memories. Didn’t you say you wanted to serve your country, the people? Well, now you can. You can serve us all and come home a hero,” Jean assured. Hearing Marco’s voice caused him to falter, feeling his heart stop in his chest at his friend’s pain, but he knew he had to regain himself for his friend’s sake.

                Marco nodded and swallowed his fears, pushing them further down and refusing to bring it up again. The following day Canada declared war on Germany, bringing the country into the war automatically, and it was only a matter of time before young men came home to their families to announce their joining the military. School began once more, pulling Jean and Marco right into the midst of a student body buzzed with excitement of the war. Many of their male classmates were missing, several desks empty, as the youth enthusiastically signed up for a place in battle. Eren and Reiner had already joined, Bertholdt and Connie soon enlisting too. It was becoming apparent that society expected all young men to enlist.

                “Have you heard about the Order of the White Feather? Apparently girls are starting to give guys not in the army white feathers as a way of calling them cowards. I fear if we stay much longer we shall be shamed,” Armin informed Jean and Marco morosely one day.

                “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t left to go join Eren yet, Armin,” Jean observed. It was well known that Eren and Armin were inseparable, and for the two to be away from each other for so long was rather unsettling to Jean and Marco.

                “I don’t want to go to war. Eren told me that if I wanted to see the world, here’s my chance. And I want to see the world, but not like this. Not when we’re in war, when the trenches I’ll be imprisoned to can be likened to the depths of hell. I know that if we don’t fight now there will be no beauty left in the world, but I still hesitate in seeing the world so broken and never _un-_ seeing it,” the blond sighed, biting on his thumbnail.

                Sure enough, the white feathers soon became apparent even to Jean and Marco. This was mostly due to the fact that a few days after their conversation with Armin, Marco was presented with a white feather and branded a coward by one of the girls in his class. When he admitted this to Jean he hung his head and sighed.

                “I’m joining the war, Jean. I don’t like it, and I still have a sense of doom, but I can’t sit by and be called a coward when I’m really supposed to be a hero. I know I’m not as perseverant as Eren, or as strong as Reiner, but I’m sure I can contribute to something and be called a hero someday. I always said I’d serve my country, and now is my best chance,” the brunet said, resolutely.

                “I will join with you, Marco,” Jean nodded, clapping the brunet on the shoulder.

                The following day Jean and Marco enlisted in the army, and seeing their courage, Armin trailed at their heels and accompanied them to war.

* * *

 

                “Marco, is that you?” Jean asked the corpse of his friend quietly. He trembled, staring down at the brunet’s body, unable to pull his eyes away from the chunk of flesh and bone and brain tissue ripped from his head and the extra wound apparent on his shoulder.

                Jean quickly found the letter sticking out from his pocket, obviously meant to be found. He unfolded the crisp paper to find it addressed to him.

                “I go to follow the Pied Piper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be expanding on this drabble as part of a history AU leading up to a reincarnation AU story I have in mind for JeanMarco and Eremin
> 
> Comments given by person who received drabble:
> 
> "Eep! I got the drabble and wow it's gosh i have no words I Thank you!! Thank you super much! ;w;"


	9. Just a Nightmare

                It was so surreal, watching everything play out. And the whole time, he felt helpless.

                No purpose to the mission came to the forefront of his mind, no clear intention on why they had left the safety of the walls. Scratch that, they weren’t outside Wall Rose; they were in the heart of Trost District. How could he think they were outside the walls when he clearly remembered the streets before him, the ones he ran down as a child? Perhaps it was because the buildings around him were crumbling, because the cobblestone road was lined with debris, because the only people around him were monsters and kids in uniforms. He was home, but home had turned into hell.

                “Jean, come on! We need to think of a plan,” he chided to himself. They were being closed in by titans, lost from the rest of the expedition, and they needed a way to escape.

                Why was this all so familiar? And yet, something was fundamentally different. He knew he had been through something like this before, but this time there seemed to be a very drastic change in how he saw everything.

                He peered around at the others, and there weren’t many. Marco was gone, along with Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt. Eren was still present, much to his frustration, deep in conversation with Mikasa. Levi and Hanji stood to the side, discussing their next move, Hanji’s squad behind her. Armin and Christa sat quietly to the side, Ymir now gone, and Sasha and Connie were not far from them. It was what was left of his old friends, along with some new faces. He was starting to remember what was different.

                “That’s right, Marco is dead,” he reminded himself, letting the pain of loss sting his heart without a fight.

                “Hey, brats, we need to fend off the titans. My squad’s covering this side. Just get the ones closest to us, don’t go out of your way if you don’t have to. And Eren, you’re staying here,” Levi instructed. He ran forward and quickly knocked out the titan closest to them while Hanji led her squad to do the same on the opposite side.

                Jean nodded tersely and waved Armin forward to join him. He took note of Mikasa partnering with Christa and Connie and Sasha working to draw away some of the titans. Springing off the building, he moved in sync with the blond, one distracting the titan while the other cut into its neck. One down. How many more to go?

                Jean didn’t want to know.

                It was numbing and faded, his automatic actions as he and Armin felled another titan together, flawless teamwork. Time seemed to move quicker as more and more titans were picked off and more and more kept coming. He had lost track of Hanji’s squad.

                Armin and he landed side by side on one of the buildings, surveying swiftly to see which titan to go for next. The taller boy looked behind them to see Hanji and Moblit join Eren where he had been instructed to wait. The brunette was pointing over towards the horizon. Perhaps they had spotted the rest of the Scouting Legion? He held his breath, foolishly hoping that the command to retreat would come.

                But instead, Hanji and Moblit held Eren between them and ran in the direction she had been pointing towards. A shout back to Levi that he couldn’t hear from where he was, but the brunet man could hear well enough, because he nodded. He knew Hanji wouldn’t forget them.

                “Hanji found the others! Retreat!” Levi called out, loud enough for them all to hear him.

                The blond and I sprinted towards the brunette, but stopped shortly as a scream pierced the air, Sasha’s voice. _Come on, Connie_ , flashed through Jean’s mind as he turned to see what had had happened. He looked in time to see the girl’s blood stain the teeth of the titan, and Connie’s was easily next as he panicked in mid-air. A quick misjudgment on his position due to his shock over Sasha’s death was all it took to land him in the grip of the titan.

                Two down. Hanji was far ahead, almost out of sight.

                “There’s nothing we can do, _keep going_!” Levi yelled to the other’s, noting the rest of the squad’s hesitation.

                Jean tugged at Armin’s hand, the blond having gone still in shock with his bright blue eyes wide. He woke up a bit and the two surged forward again, on Levi’s heels. Mikasa was at Armin’s side in a flash, Christa on her left. _And of course Eren would be far away, safe with Hanji and probably the rest of the Scouting Legion by now_. Jean sighed.

                Another scream, but this one cut off quickly. Jean stopped on one of the rooftops, looking back as Christa was lost, more blood stains. Mikasa pulled forward once more, her face set with determination. She joined Levi in front while Armin and Jean stuck together behind them.

                And there were too many titans, and not enough of them, even with humanity’s strongest. The brunet man knocked out titans as quick as was humanly possible, perhaps even beyond possibility. But in good time Jean came to witness both Levi and Mikasa being plucked from the air, and the most horrifying part of their deaths was not a bloodcurdling scream and an excess of fear, but instead accepting silence as they met their ends bravely.

                Armin and Jean backed up against a chimney, out of energy and emotionally wrecked. They were at the highest point, as out of reach of the titans as they could get, but not far enough. The blond looked at Jean with eyes filled with sheer terror.

                “Everyone’s dead, Jean,” he whispered, his breath shaky.

                “Yeah, and we will be too if we don’t think of something. Come on, Armin, use that intelligence of yours,” the taller boy urged, grabbing Armin by the shoulders and shaking him roughly.

                “No, Jean, everyone’s dead,” he said once more. He looked back up at the taller one, eyes hollow, void of emotion. “Escape if you can.”

                “Armin, no, what are you—Armin!” Jean yelled, watching in disbelief as the blond slipped away and welcomed the grasp of a titan. He turned back to Jean at the very edge of the roof and smiled, tears staining his cheeks. The blond then closed his eyes and submissively let the titan take his life.

                Jean yelped and scrambled after Armin, trying to save the blond.

                Everyone was dead.

                “Jean!”

                He was going to be next.

                “ _Jean_!”

                He jolted awake, sitting up. He was out of breath and he was slicked with sweat. Why was his throat sore? Where was he?

                Armin quickly lighted a candle and came back to Jean’s side, his blue eyes wide with concern. “Hey, you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Compliments from the person who received this drabble:
> 
> "Thanks so much for the SNK drabble! I loved it!"


	10. A Failed Consideration

                He woke up abruptly, sitting up and panting. His blue eyes were wide with fear and his blond hair was damp with sweat. Armin glanced around the room, trying to get his bearings, trying to make sure that he was safe. Across the room Connie and Eren slept soundly, but he had accidentally woken up Jean beside him in his fright.

                At least he didn’t scream this time. That was a plus.

                The room was dark, the silver moon spilling a thin trickle of light into the room, though not much. A candle was beside him, but he didn’t dare light it, in case he woke up the others. He had made that mistake before, having faced Connie’s annoyed threats and Eren’s pressing sympathy too many times before. But sometimes, these nightmares were too soul-crushing to bear alone, and he couldn’t forget that.

                That’s why Jean and Armin shared a bed; they both were plagued by nightmares. They reacted to them in their own ways, of course. When Jean was startled awake by another reminder of Marco’s death, he usually dissolved into a slur of curses and, on occasion, would begin a fight with Eren. To simplify, he translated his pain into anger and then proceeded to take it out with shouting and violence. Meanwhile Armin took a more introverted course for dispelling the dream. It would begin with his restlessness in sleep then evolve into him jolting himself awake, screaming when things were at their worst. Though Jean was completely capable of going back to sleep afterwards, exhausting himself with cursing and the like, Armin very rarely found himself drifting back to sleep after a nightmare if there was no remedy. The remedy, of course, was someone else persuading that everything was fine and he had done nothing wrong. This only happened when Eren was awake enough to comprehend that the blond needed help. This, too, happened very rarely.

                Well, that is to say, Armin was forced to rely on Eren until Jean started having the same problem. For years Armin had had dreams of his parents’ death outside the walls, and after the Colossal Titan, his grandfather’s death and the Wall Maria Retrieval Operation in general. Those were quite enough, but with the Battle of Trost, the strategist added replays of Eren’s death and fabricated scenes of Mikasa and Eren dying to the list. Trost also added on nightmares for Jean, ones where he saw Marco die a thousand deaths, alone, and even worse ones where all of his friends joined the freckled boy. After Trost, Armin and Jean began taking greater solace in each other, the blond letting Jean rant to him in anger and the taller boy convincing Armin that everything was going to be all right and holding him until he fell back asleep, which he was doing right at the moment.

                “Hey, Armin, look at me,” Jean instructed, his voice barely above a whisper. After all this time he knew Armin’s preferences, including his wanting to keep the others from waking up over him. He placed a hand on the blue eyed boy’s shoulder, guiding him to look at his golden eyes. “Listen, I don’t know who died in this dream, but they’re either still alive or it happened for a reason, but not because of you.”

                It was practically scripted, because the assurances were the same most of the time for both of them. All Jean knew was that he couldn’t bear that pained look in the other’s bright eyes any longer. “No, Jean, you don’t understand. _I_ died in this dream, Jean, I committed suicide,” Armin protested, his voice shaking.

                “Armin…” Jean fell silent, taken by surprise. As far as he knew, the blond had only considered taking his own life once before, and it was because he assumed he would die anyway. He had always figured that dreams were caused by what they had seen before and what they thought about often, that that’s what fuelled dreams in the first place. This scenario of suicide couldn’t have come out of nowhere, could it?

                “You’re not… please don’t tell me you’ve been thinking about…” The golden eyed boy paused again, stumbling over his words. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at Armin.

                “Thinking about suicide? I…” Armin looked away, avoiding Jean’s gaze.

                The taller boy scooted over a bit, sitting in front of the blond. He placed his hands on the other’s shoulders and tilted his chin up so that Armin had to look up. “Armin, I don’t know what you’re considering, but you better forget it right now. We need you _here_. How are we supposed to patch Wall Maria, regain anything at all, taste victory, if you’re not here to help us forward? Suicide isn’t an option for someone as intelligent as you.”

                “I know, I just can’t do it anymore, Jean. I don’t know how many more people I can lose, and it seems like all anyone can talk about is how lucky we are to be alive, or how we’re going to die soon. Luck is all it is, isn’t it? We’re _lucky_ to be alive; it’s all based on chance. Even the most skilled, the greatest people can die, Marco taught us that. What’s the point of going on if all the wrong people die?” Armin started, his voice steady.

                “Armin…”

                “My grandfather died and he was a brilliant man, even more intelligent than me. He could have accomplished much more if he was in my place, Jean. But instead he was picked off so that the rest of us can eat, so that the king can eat his fill. We’re not even allowed to be human and yet we’re dying for the king, the nobility, the wrong people. This isn’t a society I can cope with, Jean, only sick people can cope with this. And the only escape is death.

                “Well, if I’m just going to die, I might as well die for myself,” he finished, bitterly.

                Jean sighed. “Which is why, we’re going to fight back against the titans and regain our territory. And once we’re on the right track, moving forward, we will be free of the walls. And then you can see the ocean and live life as you choose and maybe even rebuild society to be decent. But if you don’t fight to live now, then none of that is ever going to happen, and you won’t get to see it. Come on, Armin, so much knowledge and yet you don’t know how much we need you. _Think_ , okay, just think and _don’t do anything stupid_.” He sat back, keeping his gaze on the blond.

                Armin nodded quietly, not able to find any words suitable. After a few seconds of silence, he leaned forward and embraced the golden eyed boy, burying himself in the other’s shoulder. He looked back up at Jean.

                “I’m sorry,” he said simply, tears gleaming in his eyes.

                Seeing Armin come back to his senses a bit, Jean sighed and smiled slightly at the blond, relieved. “You scared me,” he chuckled, and he couldn’t help it. He had been so stunned that Armin was ever considering such a thing, but now that the crisis was averted, he couldn’t help but just be happy that he was still in his arms.

                Jean pulled Armin back down, hoping that they could gain more sleep before having to return to the drudgery of chores in the morning. He kept the blond in his arms, falling asleep not long after Armin had drifted off, his breath slow and soft.

                Everything would be all right.


	11. Ceasefire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World War 1 AU. I don't usually get so preachy in my history for the drabbles but this is a really important event that happened during the Great War.

_Saint-Yvon, 1914_

                Throughout the frontlines during Christmas 1914, British and German soldiers alike called a ceasefire, starting an unofficial truce that lasted for the holiday. It was brief, but both sides got to interact and exchange gifts, an event that didn’t take place in such a widespread manner for the remainder of the Great War.

                “Listen up, just because we’re in the trenches, it doesn’t mean that we can’t celebrate Christmas. We’re having a ceasefire through the holiday.” The command passed down the ranks, announced to every soldier on both sides. A break from battling was near, a chance to see through the violence and destruction into peace and humanity. The government may not have approved, but it didn’t stop the celebration between both sides anyway.

                “Hey, Jean, what’s going on over there?” one of the other British soldiers asked, gesturing to the German side of the battlefield.

                Jean put the binoculars back up to his eyes to get a better look of the opposing force. “They’re… they’re decorating, there are candles and Christmas trees and the whole nine yards. Armin, you should see this.”

                The blond took the binoculars from the taller boy and nodded as he observed the others. Even though the weather had become abruptly colder, the opposing soldiers were up lighting candles raised on poles and bayonets. Others were holding Christmas trees adorned with candles up. Though this made the Germans vulnerable, none of the other British men around Jean dared open fire. The message had been received well enough: they were extending their holiday greetings to the British. Within minutes of the lights appearing, superiors started calling out instructions to not shoot.

                “Wait, Jean, do you hear that? Listen,” Armin instructed, keeping his voice quiet. He leaned forward, trying to catch a few words strung out on the wind, but from where they were in the trenches, he deciphered very little.

                “Sorry, I don’t hear anything,” Jean shook his head. He tried cupping his ears, attempting to hear whatever it was Armin heard, but his attempts soon became unnecessary as more German voices gathered.

                “ _Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht_!” was soon heard clearly, eliciting shouts of recognition from some of the British soldiers.

                “Jean, they’re singing a Christmas carol!” Armin cried, amazed. As the German voices grew louder, clearer, some of the British joined in. The blond elbowed Jean, beaming.

                “ _Silent night, Holy night_

 _All is calm, all is bright_!”

                Jean soon picked up the hymn, singing along with the blond. As the other soldiers on their side joined in, he grew more confident, singing louder.

                “This is amazing,” Armin breathed next to him during a pause.

                “ _Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht_

 _Alles schläft; einsam wacht_!”

                Marco sang along with the carol cheerfully, smiling as he placed a few more candles carefully in the branches of a Christmas tree. It wasn’t the same as being home with his family, but he figured he might as well have a good time since they were given a ceasefire.

                “Oh, what’s this? It sounds like the Brits are singing too,” Marco observed after the song ended.

                “Well it is Christmas,” Bertholdt explained shortly.

                “That’s true, and war or not, everyone must keep their traditions and some good in life. It would be a shame if we kept fighting,” Marco nodded.

                “Hey, we should go out there,” Eren suggested, knocking aside his rifle and pulling himself up into no man’s land. Bertholdt, Marco, and several of the other German soldiers gaped at him as he boldly walked out into the open. And yet, little by little, British and German soldiers started crossing the battlefield to celebrate the holiday together. No superior spoke out against the actions, and a truce had been called without words.

                “Come on, Armin,” Jean shrugged, noticing the others leaving the trenches for no man’s land. The blond followed him onto the battlefield, crossing over to where the Germans and other British soldiers were meeting.

                Jean and Armin emerged to find a world they hadn’t seen in a while. Former enemies were getting along, instead of shooting. It was an open invitation to find each other to be human. And so with that in mind, they walked over to meet three German soldiers across from them who looked about their age.

                “Sprechen Sie Englisch?” Armin asked the tall boy with freckles quietly, approaching the trio.

                “Armin, you speak German?” Jean asked curiously, a bit surprised.

                “Not much, only a little that I’ve picked up,” the blond answered, biting his lip.

                “Well luckily I do speak English. I’m Marco, and you are?” the freckled boy stepped forward, vaguely recognising Jean from some long gone time.

                “Jean Kirschtein.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments from person who received this:
> 
> "Thanks dear :D This was great!"
> 
> I have to admit, so far this is my favourite drabble.


	12. Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reincarnation AU
> 
> If you guys get the chance, Google Luiseninsel Tiergarten in autumn, its really pretty.

                “Can’t believe we’re graduating this year,” Jean muttered to Armin, sitting down next to him before class.

                “I know, isn’t it great? I’m applying to study abroad during college; I hope I get accepted,” Armin grinned, more talking to himself than his friend.

                “You still have dreams of traveling the world someday? Heh, wish I could hang onto my dreams like that.” Jean glanced over at the smaller boy, not too surprised over his dreams, seeing as how Armin had carried a map of the world marked with all of the places he wanted to see on it to school for years, that way he could add more places when need be.

                “Of course, how could I ever give up on it?” the blond looked over at him. “You know, they say that a dream never truly dies until you are in your grave. Perhaps you should try and carry on your dream.”

                “Armin, you and I both know how impossible my dream is,” Jean scoffed.

                “You never know. Perhaps you aren’t looking enough. And we’re still pretty young. You’ll find him yet, Jean.”

                “So you don’t think it’s odd? I only have one dream, and its, well, you know…” He left the sentence hanging, blushing slightly.

                “Just because not everyone has the same dream doesn’t mean it’s odd. Honestly Jean, if you want to find him you shouldn’t have such a negative attitude. You might scare him away if you keep being so negative.” Armin absentmindedly placed another red dot on his small world map, writing _Tiergarten_ in the margins.

                “Armin!” Jean snapped, then looked away. “He’s not like that; no matter how I act, there’s no way he’ll leave me.”

                “I was just kidding, Jean.”

                “I know, but I had another dream about him last night.” He ran his fingers through his hair, searching for a description for the nightmare that had plagued him the night before. “You know how I saw his corpse a while back? Last night I was at his funeral – or, not so much a funeral, I guess. It was just a pyre to burn the bodies.”

                “Yeah, I’ve had that one, too,” Armin assured him before Jean commented any further.

                “It just got me to thinking… What if he’s already dead in this life?”

                The shorter boy sighed and leaned back. “Considering what era we live in, I highly doubt it. Modern medicine, no wars here, I’m pretty sure he’s out there waiting for you.”

                “So now all I have to worry about is finding the guy.” Jean groaned and placed his head in his hands.

                Rolling his eyes, Armin flicked Jean on the forehead. “Every time we bring this up you say that. Instead of complaining just be patient. You don’t see me complaining about not finding the hazel eyed boy every five seconds.”

                “No, you just call me in the middle of the night to tell me how wonderful he is when in reality the guy sounds like a jerk.”

                “That was one time, Jean!”

                “I still can’t see why I was given the extremely nice guy to find while you’re pining after some jerk. Poor Armin!” he laughed, earning a scowl from the blond in return.

                “But think about it; imagine if those two have dreams about _us_. It’d be the other way around: it’d be terrible for your guy because he’s dreaming about some jerk while mine is blessed with me.”

                “Yeah, yeah, I’ve thought about that before. I know he’ll still care for me, though, no matter what I’m like. I guess the same thing kind of goes for you over the hazel eyed boy,” Jean said thoughtfully.

                “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

                “What if… what if you’re traveling the world and you two miss each other? Like, what if he’s in Germany on vacation when you pass through his home town and he comes home right when you leave for Germany,” the taller boy pointed out.

                “We meet in the airport,” Armin answered simply.

                “Okay, you have a point. But I just don’t see how you two can meet if you’re busy hopping from place to place.”

                “Look, I’m leaving this up to fate. But in the meantime, I’m not going to put my life on hold to waiting. For all we know, I do find him sitting in Tiergarten someday. We don’t know, but we might as well live life,” Armin sighed.

                At that point the bell rang, causing Armin to jump slightly, much to Jean’s amusement. The two bid each other farewell and scurried off to class. Caught up in the confusion of the crowd, Jean accidentally bumped into a boy, tall with black hair and freckled. Jean looked over, ready to tell the boy off but was cut short, his breath leaving him. He felt recognition dawn on him as he met the dark brown eyes of the offender.

                “I’m so sorry,” the other squeaked.

                But Jean didn’t hear this. His mind was racing, catching up on memories from several lives before this one. And though he was never able to remember the boy of his dream’s name before, it came on its own to the tip of his tongue.

                “Marco.”

                The brunet boy tilted his head and smiled, “It’s nice to see you again, Jean.”

* * *

 

_A year and a half later_

                “Jean, listen—“ Armin started immediately once Jean picked up his phone.

                “Armin? What’s going on?” Jean asked, blurrily rubbing his eyes as he sat up. Marco slept soundly next to him.

                “I found him, Jean, I found Eren, you know, the green eyed boy. For the weekend I’m in Berlin and I was walking through Luiseninsel in Tiergarten when I noticed him. And he remembers me, Jean! Just like how Marco remembers you! I told you fate would work everything out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments from person who received this:
> 
> "That was -beautiful-. Thank you so very, very much! Whoa this is just perfect, I love it!"
> 
> So this somehow got 22 notes on Tumblr. I guess I should write drabbles half-asleep more often.


	13. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Petra doesn't die.

                “Oh! You look so pretty in that dress! Twirl for me!” Hanji demanded, stepping back from Petra to give her some space.

                April spelled a lot of things: rain, flowers blooming, springtime. And indeed, outside the window one could see the clear, pale blue sky occasionally crossed by the chirping bird. The trees were growing green again, covered in blossoms, and the flowers bloomed, adding colour to the neon green grass. Winter was over and life was reshaping the world with the flutter of butterfly wings, the whimsical songs of birds.

                April also spelled out the wedding of Petra Ral and Squad Leader Levi.

                Standing in front of a narrow mirror with Hanji behind her, Petra tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear and blushed. They had decided to keep her hair down, decorated only with a coronet of white flowers and sheer veil. A heavy white dress, plain but fitting for such a beautiful woman, graced her form and met the ground, the material lapping at her heels. Long white gloves covered her arms up to her shoulders, and a pink bouquet was grasped in her hands. There was no extra addition, no fancy ribbons and needlework, or strings of pearls and jewels, for that would have only damaged the stunning beauty of Petra.

                Turning back to the taller woman behind her, Petra spread her arms out a little and spun, not able to hide the smile dawning her lips as the skirt picked up from around her heels. She stopped shortly after a couple of pivots on her toes and laughed, looking up at Hanji gleefully.

                “Ah! I can’t believe my pretty little Petra is getting married! It seems like yesterday you were picked to be on his squad. And now you’re wearing a wedding dress,” Hanji sighed dreamily.

                “And soon I’ll be wearing his ring,” Petra added, smiling to herself.

                “So are you nervous? I heard a lot of people get really nervous before they get married.”

                “No, how can anyone be nervous when they’re marrying someone like Levi? He’s so caring and I know he’ll take good care of me,” the auburn haired woman objected.

                A knock echoed on the wooden door just then, and Hanji opened it up to find Petra’s father. He was practically in a state of ecstasy and bliss, beaming as he held out his arm to his daughter.

                “We’re about to start,” her father said proudly. Petra nodded and linked arms with her father as Hanji went in before them. The brunette held the position as the maid of honour, while Commander Erwin had accepted being the best man, though that took some persuasion to get him to agree.

                The organ started to play and it was Hanji and Erwin’s cue. Grinning, the brunette took Erwin’s arm, saying to him quietly, “Ooh, a Scouting Legion wedding, this doesn’t happen often.”

                “Hanji, I’m your commander, perhaps you shouldn’t be so assertive at the moment?” the blond man argued, not unkindly. Rather, he enjoyed the light spirit everyone was in today. It pleased everyone to have something to enjoy before having to go back to the drudgery of missions.

                “Not today, you’re not. Today you’re the best man,” Hanji corrected, falling silent when it came time for them to walk the aisle.

                A few seconds after Hanji and Erwin left the solitude of the hallway Petra took a deep breath and looked at her father.

                “Ready?”

                “How could I not be?”

                “You know, you’ll make him a wonderful wife, Petra.”

                The daughter smiled and nodded before turning to face forward as they stepped into the room where the wedding was being held. Flower petals already lined the pathway and the windows were open to the songs of the birds outside. But Petra only had eyes for the black haired man standing at the front, his hands clasped in front of him and his eyes showing a mixture of love and pride.

                A repeating of words, meaningful vows, any speech was forgotten by them later on, as the only memories worth saving were the gentle looks they had only for each other.

                “I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mrs. Levi!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments given by whom this drabble was written for:
> 
> "Its beautiful. Thank you so much."


	14. Dreams

                He didn’t think he could count them all on his fingers. How many? There had to be more than ten, definitely more.

                Mina. Franz. Thomas. Mylius. Nac.

                Marco.

                Bertholdt. Reiner. Annie.

                Mike Zacharius. Levi’s squad. Luke Siss. Dita Ness. Nanaba.

                Hannes.

                It was just those off the top of his head; there were more. There were so many more. More than he could count, ever.

                Snow was falling and the world was bleak, the sky grey and oppressing. There was no light left from the thin rays finding their way to the ground earlier. Far above, the moon reflected its silver light eerily on the canopy of grey, making the clouds glow in the dark, a sickly grey. The ground below was blanketed with white, crunching underneath his black boots. It had started snowing again, prompting snowflakes to adorn his blond hair and fleck his eyebrows.

                And he was still standing there. When everyone else had left.

                “What happened?” He was good; his voice didn’t crack under the weight of his pain.

                Earlier, there had been consoling words, sympathetic pats on the shoulder. _They didn’t die in vain. Everything will be all right._ Silence. No one stayed long; they left soon after the corpses were covered with earth and snow. A few concerned glances towards his direction from the superiors and some of his friends, the people that knew he wouldn’t recover anytime soon. Not fully anyway. He might never recover fully. But he’d keep fighting. For them.

                “I’m going to miss you.” Tears stained his pale cheeks.

                Flashes of their downfalls, murals of blood and mangled corpses ripping his soul behind blue eyes.

                “We dreamed of the ocean.” He bites his lip to help choke back sobs.

                Clear blue skies and endless ocean used to fill his mind, _their minds_. Orange and red streaked sunsets painting the sky beautifully as it reflected on the wide expanse of water. Sunny days exploring the world with his best friends, the only family he had left. It was all he ever thought about, the driving force that propelled him forward.

                The dream left his mind, dulled from loss. Flickers of blood and the lifeless eyes of the two people he loved most in the world. It was all so quick, and they were lucky to have been able to salvage the bodies at all. But it haunted him: their determination and strength, their bond. They had spent the hardest years of their lives together, and now he was the last left. How could they lose their most valuable assets? How could he lose his family this easy? It was all he could think about, it was the driving force that stranded him in purgatory; to live or not.

                In front of him stood two small stone crosses. The final reminder that they were gone. The snow laid a fine layer upon the stone and he stepped forward to brush it off, careful not to step over where their bodies laid as he did so. Inching back slowly once more, he looked upon their graves, mustering the courage to clear his eyes of tears and steady his voice.

                “They say that a person has two deaths. Their first is their physical death. And the second is the last time someone says their name.” He saluted the graves before him.

                “I shall spend my lives saying your name. As long as I live, so do you.” Around his neck was Mikasa’s red scarf.

                “And we have dreamed together all these years.” Eren’s key pressed into his chest, warm from his body heat.

                “But I can’t dream without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment by person who received drabble:
> 
> "YOU LITTLE SHIT IT GOT ME TEARY-EYED!"
> 
> Probably the best compliment I've ever received.


	15. Battle of Grunwald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle of Grunwald AU. The battle took place back in the 1400's between Prussia and Poland-Lithuania and has been considered the greatest military victory for Poland, Lithuania, and Belarus. Later in WW1 and WW2 the Germans used the battle as pro-German propaganda, as they viewed the Teutonic Knights as the heroes who brought Christianity to Eastern Europe.

_Poznań, Poland. Summer 1410_

                “Oi, Armin, why are we here?” Eren asked, shifting uncomfortably in his tunic.

                Armin looked over at his friend, rolling his eyes. “We go to fight for our country.”

                “Tch, _come on_ , Armin, I know that. But what’s the problem?”

                “From what I’ve gathered, last year there was an uprising in Samogitia, which, as you should know, is held by the Teutonic Knights. The Lithuanian politicians announced that they support the uprising and when the Knights threatened to invade, we stepped up to support Lithuania. We declared that we were ready to invade Prussia if need be, and so we are,” the blond explained, fidgeting in his loose uniform.

                “How do you know all this stuff?” Eren sighed, shaking his head.

                “My father is a diplomat, remember? He served at the Council of Constance, that settlement between the three popes. We live in trying and chaotic times, Eren; I suggest you pay more attention.” Armin turned back to face forward.

                “Why should I? There is no reason for me to be here to fight. What have the Teutonic Knights done to us recently?”

                Armin looked distraught after that question, his nose scrunched and an eyebrow raised. “They invaded our homeland, Eren. Why do you think last year soldiers left to go reclaim Bydgoszcz? This _affects us_ , Eren!”

                The brunet turned to his best friend, eyebrows raised. “I don’t exactly have a diplomat for a father, Armin. News of what happens isn’t a part of my daily routine. I didn’t know.”

                Biting his lip, Armin looked away. “I’m sorry for getting frustrated with you. I just… I don’t want to go to war, Eren.”

                “Can’t your father get you out of the war?” A note of concern underlined Eren’s response.

                “I tried, but he denied me leave. He says I must defend our country if I shall have any credibility when I am older. What representative of our country turns away when we are at war? I can’t leave.”

                “Since we’re stuck in this battle, I’m glad I can stand by your side, Armin,” Eren said quietly, placing his hand on the blond’s shoulder.

                “I couldn’t think of anyone else who I would rather risk my life with,” Armin returned, smiling at the brunet.

                The superior in front of the rows of soldiers announced that it was time to march on towards Prussia. Several banners were gained as they headed towards battle, banners of the Lithuanians and Masovians. On the 9th of July the army crossed the Prussian border. Six days later the Knights and the Polish-Lithuanian force faced each other.

                “Eren, promise me you’ll survive,” Armin whispered, tense and still as he stood on the battlefield.

                “Only if you promise me the same thing,” Eren muttered back.

                “We’ll leave this wretched place together and alive.” They both nodded to the statement.

                Armin faltered momentarily but pulled himself together as the commander ordered them into battle. Shouting, blood, confusion, hours of heavy fighting pass, and for a while, the Polish army fights alone.

                “Eren! They’re winning!” the blond called to the other, the two fighting side by side.

                “Not for long, Armin!” The brunet nods to the return of the Lithuanian army.

                “A strategic offense, of course, they got them from behind,” Armin cried, incredulous.

                “Shut up and keep fighting!”

                Armin nodded and kept the Knights rushing at him at bay, noticing soon afterwards that the Polish-Lithuanian had outnumbered the opposing force. They were facing victory, a defeat over their enemies. All they had worked for, fought for, what some had _died_ for, it wasn’t going to be in vain. The blood was well worth it to the blond until…

                “Ar…min.” Eren’s voice was hushed, faded, but Armin could hear it all the same. The blond turned to find the brunet felled from his horse, slumped on the ground. Abandoning the battle raging around them, Armin rushed to the Eren’s side, crouching down beside him. Ragged breathing reached his ears, and he couldn’t help but notice the blood that soaked slowly through Eren’s shirt. Holding up his brightly painted shield to any offender, Armin pulled the brunet up into his arms. His breath hitched in concern and sorrow as he placed a hand to the other’s chest, as though trying to stop the bleeding.

                “Come on, Eren, you promised me you would survive,” Armin sobbed, his voice cracking.

Tears welled in his bright blue eyes as he looked down at his best friend, at the hazel eyes that were growing dim and lifeless. The panting that he had heard moments before had fallen silent, the heartbeat that had thrived under his grasp on the brunet’s wrist halted not long after having joined Eren. A wordless yelp escaped Armin’s lips as he shook the corpse, trying to wake up his best friend.

“You can’t leave me, Eren. You can’t die. Come on, wake up, you fool. Wake up, Eren, wake up. I’m sorry, Eren, I’m sorry.” Tears were staining his pale cheeks and he held a bloody hand up to his mouth, trying to choke back the sobs. His mind starting to comprehend Eren’s death, he hugged the still body to him, ignoring the shouts of his superiors to get back to the battle.

He ignored the world, ignored the war cries of bloodthirsty knights, ignored the pathetic last words of dying men, ignored the battle around him. Nothing was as important to him as getting Eren to wake up. And it was this ignorance that led to him dropping his shield and subsequently, his death, as a Knight giving one last fight rushed to the easy prey and gave him a crushing blow to the skull.

* * *

 

“You mean to tell me my son, my dear Armin, has fallen in battle?”

“Yes, sir, he died beside his friend, Eren Jaeger.”

His only son had died by fighting in a battle he did not want to participate in. Regret flickered through the diplomat’s heart, but he soon replaced it with pride. To him, his son had died a war hero. He had died protecting his fellow soldier, and that’s all the man needed to know.

In his mind, the least he could do was use the wealth he had gained in his political power to the commemoration of his son. A statue rose, a noble one of a young man protecting a dying friend with a shield raised on his arm.

* * *

 

“So what’s the story with this one?” Eren asked, looking up at the statue and putting his hands in his pockets.

“The book says that this was built by a powerful diplomat whose son was killed in battle, the Battle of Grunwald back during the 1400’s, to be exact. The son was last seen protecting his friend, a fellow soldier,” Armin summarised, reading over the guidebook.

“The Battle of Grunwald? I thought you were taking me on a tour of World War One sights,” Eren questioned, looking over at the blond curiously.

“Well, to be fair, there is a battle site of World War 1 not far from here. In 1914 there was a battle near here and so they called it the Battle of Tannenberg, which is another name for the Battle of Grunwald as well. It was a propaganda technique by the Germans because they had won and considered it revenge against the Polish-Lithuanian victory back in the 1400’s. I figured we might as well go ahead and see the site for the Battle of Grunwald while we are here,” Armin explained.

“Oh, all right then,” Eren shrugged and looked back at the statue. He knew it made the blond happy to see all of the historical sites, and he didn’t mind tagging along, so he turned back to the subject. Might as well make the trip even more enjoyable for Armin and let him rant about the war. “So this kid died defending his friend? I’d do the same thing for you, you know, if we were ever in war.

“I know you would, and I’d do the same for you,” Armin smiled. He stepped closer to the statue to see the figures’ faces clearer and reeled. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu washed over him as he examined the statue, knocking him back a couple of steps. He placed a hand to his head and looked down, trying to swallow back the sick feeling suddenly plaguing him.

“Armin?” Eren asked, hazel eyes widening in concern as he saw the blond tremble. He placed a hand on Armin’s shoulder, trying to steady him. “What’s wrong?”

“Eren… They look like us. I... I think that’s… I remember it,” Armin stammered, blood draining from his face.

The brunet shook his head, confused but examined the statue anyway. He quickly turned back to Armin, taken by surprise and familiarity.

“Armin… that’s us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments for whom the drabble was written for:
> 
> "OMG YOU DID IT THIS MADE ME REALLY HAPPY YOU ARE THE BEST YOU LITTLE ANGEL"
> 
> And the tags:
> 
> "ff THIS SUBMISSION IS AMAZING i csn't even long post IM SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG BUT JUST LOOK AT THIS GOLD"


	16. The Successor

“So this is her office. Or, was, I mean.” Commander Erwin turned to face Armin, now aged 21.

                “Thank you, Commander,” Armin paused to throw a sidelong glance. “And him? Shall he stay here with me?”

                “For now, yes, he’s requested to stay on actually. For the time being, we might as well honour his request. He’s been through a lot,” Erwin replied. He walked back towards the door to the study, steel-toe boots on wood floors casting echoes along the room. Before exiting, the commander stopped at the door, but didn’t look back at the younger man. “No one…can ever take her place. But you are the best candidate to fill her position. You should be proud. Hanji Zoe was a brilliant woman.”

                Commander Erwin left then, leaving Armin and Moblit alone in the flickering candlelight. The blond quietly sat at the paper littered desk in front of the window, barely making a sound as he bent over the wood, scanning over the documents laid upon them without touching them.

                Hanji’s eloquent but obviously rushed handwriting scrawled along the paper, black ink fading in spots. Armin didn’t need to read her notes to know that it was mostly her discoveries about titans, her theories, her questions for the future. He knew her well, and he couldn’t imagine ever forgetting how excited she got over new information or how incredibly talented she was in piecing together the puzzle of the titans. Hanji had been almost a mother figure to him those past few years, and he couldn’t help but wish he had a few more with her.

                Instead, he was now sitting in her place. The Scouting Legion’s intellect. He had always wanted the position, but not this soon.

                “She wanted you to have her spot, you know,” Moblit said softly after a few long minutes of silence.

                Armin looked up at him, startled. He hesitated before finally saying, “I’m surprised she didn’t pick you instead.”

                “Ah, no, not me,” Moblit laughed. “In the Scouting Legion, the higher ups, Commander Erwin and all them, they write out their wills and keep them updated. They always pay close attention to new soldiers; they know them by heart without speaking to them. That way, when one dies, we at least know who they recommend should take their place. And after Hanji met you, she pulled me aside later that night, and she told me to suggest you as her successor in her will.

                “I still remember that night, you know. She got excited a lot, but she was thrilled to know that she had found someone worthy of being in her position. She had found someone who would carry on her research and push forward new theories dutifully. She had found someone who saw things differently, just like she did. And she told me to write you as her successor; because she knew right off the bat that you would carry on her position.

                “And then Hanji paused and looked at me. At that time I had been her assistant for a while; we knew each other, we were friends. She told me, ‘Moblit, you have been a wonderful assistant and friend. You cannot _imagine_ how much I appreciate all your hard work and concern over me. But you are not meant for this job, Moblit. You’re too level-headed! Instead, someone who can see the world more clearly than most will do the honours. And you, you should stay on with them. If there is a day when you are here but I am not, you should stay with them. You’re loyal, a protector, Moblit, a protector when we act a bit rash. So you’ll protect them just as you are protecting me now.’”

                A pause. Moblit stood up and walked over to the other, turning to Armin.

                “She was right, you know. I’m not fit for a job like hers. People who are like you, they put themselves in danger without much regard to the risk. But that’s not going to help if you go and get yourself killed; we need your intelligence. We need yours just as much as we needed hers. And I’ll be sure to be the person who keeps you out of harm’s way. Because I appreciate you thinker types.”

                Armin remained quiet for a moment before standing up and saluting Moblit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments by person who received this:
> 
> "OH MY GOD THIS IS BEAUTIFUL AND SAD BUT HAPPY TOO THANK YOU!!!!!!"


	17. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on occupied Poland:  
> \- The Nazis wanted to abolish Polish culture, so writing newspapers was a crime and could equal death. This was one of the many ways a Pole could fight back against the occupation, defying the Germans and keeping the Polish spirit and culture alive.
> 
> \- During this time many professors were arrested and sent to labour camps, where a good portion of them died. Polish intelligentsia were a target for the Nazis so Jean's family being taken would not have been out of the ordinary, especially since Jagiellonian University was hit pretty bad.

_Krakow, Poland. World War 2._

                A quiet tap on the door to his flat snapped Marco out of his reverie. He sat up in his chair at the small desk and looked at the door, wide-eyed. The only person who ever visited him was Jean, but this couldn’t be him. Jean always stormed in without bothering to knock. But there was no one else who this could be.

                “The rents paid, all of the utilities, that only leaves one thing, and please God, no, not that,” Marco whispered to himself, his stomach dropping.

                He stood up silently and called out, “Who is it?”

                “Jean! Who else?”

                Marco breathed a sigh of relief and threw the door open, noting to himself that his best friend’s voice sounded hollow. He yanked the shorter boy inside and closed the door, relocking it carefully. The brunet turned back to Jean and glared.

                “What?”

                “You scared me! You never knock like that, Jean. What the hell were you thinking? You’re the only one who ever visits me. The only other time a person would be at my door would be if…” He paused, his breath caught in his throat. After a moment of struggle he finally choked out, “The only other visitor would be someone coming to tell me of your death. Especially with that sombre knock. Was that really necessary?”

                Jean laughed, a mocking chortle, and stepped closer to Marco. “They took my family and you’re mad because I knocked on your door for once. Well, _sorry_.”

                The brunet gasped, dismayed and confused by the terse statement. Jean could be sadistic and cynical at times, but he was really scaring Marco by that point. His best friend was never this quiet and subdued, his voice and eyes had never been hollow before. But if the news is true, it explained why.

                Mentally shaking himself, he managed to remain calm and set to work about regaining _his_ Jean. He pulled out the chair in front of his desk and gently pushed Jean into it, kneeling down before him so that he could meet the other’s eyes. “Forget about my anger for a second. That’s not important. Tell me what happened.”

                Jean prepared himself to respond with some sarcastic comment when he noticed Marco’s pleading eyes. His best friend’s caring prodding over his wellbeing easily broke through the flimsy shield Jean had scrounged up earlier. Marco had always been able to get into his head, and even when he didn’t want anyone at all to be let in, the brunet somehow found his way inside anyway. Not that Jean minded; Marco had a way of calming him down and bringing him to his senses.

                So instead he started quietly, “You know how the Germans are arresting professors?”

                Marco nodded quietly.

                “They took my father and the rest of my family… before I could get to them. I should’ve gone with them.”

                Jean never told Marco much about his family, but from what he understood, the head of the Kirschtein family had been a professor at the Jagiellonian University before the war. With the Nazis arresting the intelligentsia, he managed to elude the meeting at the last minute and went into hiding. But considering how absurd the whole situation sounded to people, it didn’t take long for the professor to be found by the gestapo.

                “They, the guys who run the underground printing press, they pulled me aside earlier. I was stopping by to get the paper really quick for us when they told me my family had been arrested.” A pause. Jean considered the events once more, grinding his teeth, before slipping his head into his hands in frustration.

                “Jean…”

                The shorter boy held up his hand and looked up abruptly. “I was gone, Marco! My entire family is arrested, probably on their way to death right now, and I was gone!” He stood and walked to the window. “I’m such an idiot, Marco. I was out with Armin and ended up getting left behind. What am I supposed to do? Huh? There’s nowhere for me to go; our flat is wrecked and I don’t have any money.”

                Marco joined him by the window, tense. “Survive, you’ll survive. You’ll stay here with me and elude those Nazi bastards. I’m not sure if they’re after you, too, though by the looks of it, they want everyone dead. We’ll just have you lay low. You can help me write for the newspapers.”

                Jean looked up at the brunet, thinking. “I never did really understand why you are always so adamant about helping with the newspaper. What good are some words in the long run when we face guns? I think I get it now, though. They may take our homes, our possessions, our lives. But never our spirit.”

                “That’s why I write. We’ll get out of this occupation alive and proud someday. And wherever your family is, they’ll look upon you proudly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment by the person who received the drabble:
> 
> "ok that was adorable!"


	18. Futility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on Communist Russia:
> 
> \- Those in the Communist party were generally provided for better than those who rejected it. Even though one may not accept the ideals, they would have to join the party in many cases just to survive.
> 
> \- After starting to see these flaws, many people started committing suicide, even those part of the party.
> 
> \- Armin and Jean should not be considered cowards in any way during this. Jean's proud and Armin sees the situation clearly, their solution wasn't bad for the time period.

_Stalingrad, Russia._ _Communist-era_

                The pro-Communist meetings were impossible to avoid. No matter how much Jean resented the totalitarian government, he still had to get a good education for his family. Students were provided with food, and someone needed to support his family. Without his parents being part of the Communist party, there was no possible work, and it all fell to Jean to gain them food and other necessary living expenses.

                The Kirschtein family certainly hadn’t been the richest of families before the Russian Revolution, but that didn’t change their position. With them having a bourgeoisie background and no affiliation with the reigning party, simply living was proving to be a challenge. Which is why, even though it went against his beliefs and conscience, Jean finally attended one of the meetings at university.

                He sat in the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest, and hoped that no one noticed him. A very passionate brunet boy was speaking at the podium up front. His hazel eyes practically brimmed with anger as he tore down all those who opposed Communism. Everyone was expected to support the party at some level, but this guy was above and beyond, and it seemed for mostly personal reasons.

                “As the proletariat we must rise! It is our time to take what is rightfully ours! I will no longer stand by for the bourgeoisie to force me into poverty like they did before. I cannot let the pigs that killed my mother with starvation stand in power any longer! We have a chance to better the world!” the brunet cried, instilling the same passion in many of those who heard it. Students around Jean looked on at the speaker with wide eyes, backs straight as they listened carefully.

                It was the start of a strong reign for years to come.

                “What did Mother say to me? Make friends in the party, get in the party, get us out of here,” Jean thought, emptily staring at the hazel eyed boy ahead. He had blocked out the speech long ago, not in the slightest interested in what he had to say. The boy seemed like a controlling jerk anyway.

                Avoiding looking at the brunet, Jean surveyed the faces next to the podium. There was the stern-faced brunette girl standing at attention at Eren’s side. She was pretty, but too intimidating. He couldn’t imagine her helping out a stranger. On the other side was a small blond boy, his blue eyes staring off into the distance. Perhaps as bored of the spectacle as Jean was?

                When the meeting was over Jean stood and self-consciously edged his way towards the front of the room. The brunet and brunette duo were already walking away, the boy still ranting on. Meanwhile the blond stayed behind, collecting the papers and books the other boy left behind.

                “Oi, who are you supposed to be?” Jean asked roughly, rubbing the back of his next. _Nice job_ , Jean chided himself.

                “I’m Armin Arlelt. My friend, Eren, he speaks a lot in these meetings and I’m here to help him outline everything. You?” the blond answered, looking up at Jean only when everything had been tidied.

                “Jean Kirschtein. I’m new here, don’t really have a place yet,” he deadpanned.

                “If you’re Communist I’m sure we can find you a place in our meetings—“

                “I’m not, not yet anyway. Listen, I was wondering if you can find me a part in it, though. Hearing your friend speak earlier, it made me realise how fortunate we are that the proletariat have finally claimed power. I want to help in any way I can.” Jean forced a smile, lying through his teeth. Inwardly he cringed at what he had forced himself to say, but he was desperate.

                Armin scrutinized the taller boy for a second, knowing off the bat that he was lying. But the blond wasn’t exactly a supporter of the system either, he knew there were flaws in it no one else in the party had seemed to see. Yet here Jean was, a look about him that suggested that he knew what was wrong just as well as Armin did. The strategist shrugged, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to help someone out. Just because he no longer had a family to feed didn’t mean this Jean guy didn’t.

                “There’s a get together a few days from now. I’m allowed to invite someone, so I’ll let you in. Follow the directions on the paper and we’ll see what we can do,” Armin said, handing him a slip of paper. He started towards the door. “I have to get going. Just do me the favour of not saying what you really think about Communism, all right? Farewell, Jean.”

                “Hey, Jean! You made it,” Armin grinned, meeting the boy at the front door of his friend’s flat on Saturday night. He stood aside and let Jean in. The population of the party was small and the blond was able to quickly point out Eren, Mikasa, Connie, Sasha, Reiner, Annie, Bertholdt, Christa, Ymir, and a freckled boy named Marco. He slipped away then to see what positions Eren and him could find for Jean within the group.

                “You can sit next to me,” the freckled boy smiled, calling Jean over from across the room. Jean shrugged and took a place next to Marco.

                “So you’re Jean Kirschtein, then?” Marco asked politely. Jean nodded quietly. “It’s great that you want to join the party. Armin told me about you, by the way. He thought we’d get along.”

                “No reason but curiosity, but, why do you support Communism? You seem so excited about it,” Jean asked, lowering his voice so that only the brunet would hear.

                “Why, I took part in the revolution. The proletariat was suffering, but now we are all equal. Isn’t that a better system?” Marco grinned.

                “What about the bourgeoisie?”

                “Well, now they can live like us. There can’t be anymore discrimination because we are all equal under our government.”

                Jean frowned. Armin had been mistaken. This Marco guy was just as bad as Eren. He quickly walked over to Armin and excused himself from the party, and though it confused everyone else, Armin nodded knowingly.

                It wasn’t long until news of Jean’s suicide reached Armin’s ears.

                Realising Jean wasn’t far off from the resolution of this style of living, the blond followed suit.

                Years later Marco still remembered the boy with the golden eyes that he had barely gotten to know. The boy that had opened his eyes to the cruelty of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments by the person who received this drabble:
> 
> "This is really good! Thank you!"


	19. Counter Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Battle of Grunwald AU. I know, history, but at least I'm trying to make it interesting. At least now you can say that fanfiction is educational, because I fact check all of this before I write it.

                                 _September 1409, Grand Duchy of Lithuania_

                Political unrest is common these days, has been for a while now, considering we went through a second civil war not too long ago. There’s been talk of an uprising in Samogitia, the part of our country that is held by those Teutonic Knights. The whole thing was idiotic if you ask me, especially since those two cousins fought for the throne and still ended up working together often anyway. But that was in the past and now we have a new conflict to deal with: the Teutonic Knights don’t believe the king of Poland is truly Christian so they’re getting all antsy. Leave it to the Knights to start a war over someone’s religion.

                Anyway, I’m only telling one side of the story from my father, a politician. There are people out there with a much better explanation to what had happened. Not long after news of uprising in Samogitia spread, a few new families moved to town, including a few people my age. Out of the three I’ve gotten to know, the blond boy, Armin, seems to be the most knowledgeable. At least he was able to explain the whole dilemma to me anyway.

                “So, a few years ago, the two cousins were fighting over the throne. And one of the cousins allied themselves with the Teutonic Knights for support. In exchange for their help, the Knights were given control of Samogitia, only now the people there are uprising. I mean, it’s gotten pretty bad, even since we left. All the Prussian soldiers there fled and the Grandmaster of the Teutonic Knights is threatening war.” That’s what he told me yesterday.

                “My father said that Poland has announced that if the Knights declare war on Lithuania, Poland will declare war on Prussia and invade,” I responded.

                “I’ve heard that, too, especially now since Lithuania and Poland are in a personal bond ever since one of the cousins married their queen.”

                “Agh, how do you keep up with all this stupid political stuff? What do marriages matter for anyway? Shouldn’t we be fighting the Knights to get our home back?” I still can’t believe that brat, Eren, scoffed at all this.

                “We’re on the brink of war, you know,” I snapped, standing up.

                “Yeah, and I’ve already seen it. I already saw the uprising. So cool it, Kirschtein.”

                I was about to respond when Armin and that friend of theirs, Mikasa, interrupted.  The point is, Armin said it perfectly. We’re facing a war over some guy’s religion and an area of Lithuania. And considering my age, I’ll be expected to fight.

                Thank God there’s a treaty saying that we won’t fight for another year or so.

~~~

                                _Summer 1410. Czerwinsk, Poland_

                The commanders explained it to us like this: march with Poland up to the Knight’s territory, back out and follow those in charge, and we’ll attack the Knight’s from behind. From how they made it sound, the Polish officers were unaware of this plan, but the important thing is that we’re coming back to defeat our enemies.

                I was lucky enough to be placed in the same line as Armin and Eren, so at least if I died, I wouldn’t be alone. Eren probably wouldn’t care much, but I know Armin would at least be there for me. I’m not saying I want to go to battle, especially not for others, but knowing this makes me feel a lot better. This time last year I probably would have been searching for a way out of this madness, but now I hold my ground.

                “Hey, Armin, you know a lot. How many of us do you think will go home alive?” I asked, glancing at the blond.

                “Most of us, I bet. We obviously outnumber the Knights. They weren’t prepared for Poland _and_ Lithuania to attack.”

                “And their side? How many will they lose?”

                “Definitely more than us. But then, their Knights are probably better trained than a good majority of our forces. Perhaps it will be just off of a tie as far as losses go.”

                “Okay, well who will win, Armin? That’s the main thing,” Eren interrupted.

                “Us, if everything goes correctly.”

                The battle that commenced was pretty heavy, and when we retreated, I almost felt pity on the Poles that we left behind. Almost, and I would have, if it wasn’t for the fact that some of the Knights came after us when we retreated. There were a few close encounters, but it ended up playing to our advantage since it disbanded their formation. Us Lithuanians remained in order, though, and we returned to the battlefield. The false retreat was the winning move and when we came up from the rear, we completely outnumbered those damn Knights.

                At that point the fighting was smooth going. The Knights didn’t expect a thing and no one can stop the Lithuanians and Poles. As I was forcing my way through the opposing force I came across a young man roughly my age, perhaps older by a little. He was taller and more muscular than me, with brunet hair and large brown eyes. _And I recognised him_. In fact, his name was at the tip of my tongue.

                He must have felt the same way because he lowered his sword and approached me cautiously. A look of familiarity was in his eyes and he looked as though he was about to say something, only something horrible happened then. Something horrible that stained the grass with his crimson blood and muted his speech forever.

                “Haha got one! Come on, Kirschtein; give it some effort will you?” Eren cheered, kicking the brunet’s head a few feet away.

                I only glanced at the severed head of the boy for a second, but it was long enough to notice his lifeless eyes. That sight alone made the blood drain from my face and I fainted.

                Luckily Armin was there to get me help, but part of me wishes one of the Knights had taken my life right then.

                _Because I swear I knew and loved that brunet boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment by person for whom this drabble was written for:
> 
> "This is really good oh wow! Thank you!"


	20. The Turning Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this is a bit different from what I usually write but I had a dream like this last night so I fit it towards Jean because its haunting me.  
> Basically he finds Marco in his dreams and now he wants to do the same in real life and all he really needed was a dream where Marco is all like 'come find me'.

Too much was happening and all I knew was that I wanted to catch him again. I usually had colourful and energized dreams, but this one at least had a purpose to it. No matter what it was, I would claw my way through all these other trivial exercises to catch up with him again and make him see me.

He had been in my dreams before, a face I recognised even though I had never met this boy in real life. Short black hair and deep brown eyes, a splattering of freckles across tan cheeks. But it wasn't his appearance that mattered, not his taller form and demanding presence. It was the words that escaped his pale pink lips that had kept me after him. Because I knew him, and I needed to know what his answer was.

Only, as usual, I was faced with the usual bullshit: a long journey to stumble through. For all the nightmares that have plagued me, I've never figured out why I have to go through all this meaningless activity just to get to the important stuff. And even then, I usually woke up before I was satisfied. Typical.

It was a trippy dream, crazier than usual, I'll give it that. I can't even recount what all I had gone through. There was a part where I had to pass through a maze in the middle of the desert and a few of my friends were with me. Armin was telling us how to get through it and Eren broke some of the infrastructure. I can understand why Armin was in the dream, he was a guide in life, but for the love of hell, why did Eren have to bother me in my dreams, too? Nothing ever comes up Jean, honestly.

But that wasn't even the most insane part. We were on a ship at one point passing through a swamp. It was mandatory for some reason and some news reporter chick was narrating everything. At one point we came across a ship with corpses lined in it, and I remember distinctly that one guy's head had been torn from his body. I probably remembered that because some girl cried about it later on in the dream.

Wait, no, all this isn't the point. The goddamn point was that the brunet boy with the freckles was in my dream again. How the hell did he keep eluding me? Let me tell you, that guy is hard to keep up with. And from what I can recall, he kept rejecting me for some reason.

Okay, for you to understand this I need to clarify something. I know who freckle boy is, he was a friend of mine in a past life, I know that. My nightmares show me that as clear as day. Now, I can't remember what the boy's name is exactly, so we'll just call him Marco because I like that name. So I've dreamed about this Marco guy before. About how nice he was to me and how he made me see that I'm a good leader. He made me feel better about myself, you know. And I also dreamed about his death before, and that haunts me. But the good thing is that I've had dreams about him living again in modern times, and I can kind of classify this dream as one of those.

Because I  _know_  that Marco is alive again, I've contemplated trying to look for him, to ask around with the description I have of him. I guess the only reason I hadn't done that before was because I was unsure of whether I really should be looking for him. And then this dream comes along, and the whole time I'm chasing him down. And at one point, the interaction I had with him that I remember best, he turns to me and actually acknowledges my presence. But then he said...

"I want to be with you, but you have to talk to me." That's what he said, and I knew exactly what this was referring to, especially with that hurt tone. If we were to find each other, I had to meet him halfway.

And that stuck with me, I couldn't get it out of my head all the next day. I knew I had to start the search for him, I couldn't feel right until I did.

Not going to lie, I'm actually doing what I can to find him right now. All thanks to that dream that made up my mind for me.

I  _will_  find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments by person for whom this drabble was written for:
> 
> "#awesome short fanfic#LOVE it#^^#cutie perf#love it#perfect cosplayer#i follow you with my hanji blog ^^"
> 
> Er, I run an Armin cosplay blog too and I thought I'd include that comment. *shrug*


	21. An Agreement

                He knew he could be nervous around people he found attractive, but enough was enough. Armin was his friend, and all of this didn't change that simple fact. He needed to know the answer to his question, of course, but there was no way they would ever let this little crush get in the way of them being friends and partners on the battlefield.

                There were some things about Jean that would always stay the same, one of them being his habit of being blunt. He fully meant it when he told Armin that he was a cool guy, even though he always hung around Eren a bit too much for his taste. No matter how often he thought about it, Jean could never really figure out why Eren and Armin were so close to begin with. Obviously they had been best friends since their childhood, but there had to be something more that kept their friendship alive. But all of this was for another day.

                Because, right now, Jean was on his way to tell Armin how he felt. He swallowed his anxiousness over the ordeal, prepared what he would say beforehand, he was ready. Figuring the blond boy would be in the room they shared since he wasn't in the library, Jean slipped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

                And he turned around to find Armin facing away from him, desperately trying to bandage his chest. Jean paused for a second, confused as he watched the boy. He couldn't remember the other getting hurt during training recently, and he should have gotten used to the bruises the straps and harness left long ago. Yet, whatever sort of wound he was trying to bandage, it sure seemed to make him uncomfortable. The blond seemed in a hurry to finish bandaging, and his breath seemed to keep hitching from what Jean could hear.

                "Oi, Armin, need any help?" Jean offered, stepping forward.

                "Jean!" the shorter boy yelped, dropping the bandages. Seeing the white bandages he had been trying to wrap about his chest for quite a while, he groaned and quickly snatched his white shirt and put it back on. Buttoning it up all the way and crossing his arms over his chest tightly, he turned to Jean.

                "What? Do you not like your body or something? I know you're small but there's nothing to be nervous about," Jean scoffed. "What were those bandages for anyway?"

                "Nothing!" Armin insisted, a bit too quickly. Swallowing, he tried again, "Nothing, seriously."

                "Tch, come on, you don't trust me with knowing that you got hurt during training or something like that?"

                "No, its not like that. Its more complicated, honestly."

                "Then what? What the hell is this about?" Jean pressed, stepping closer. He usually wouldn't be upset over something like this, but between his nervousness over his plans to ask Armin out and Armin himself getting weirded out, Jean was starting to get a bit frustrated.

                "I'm female, okay?! Now just leave me alone so that no one else finds out," Armin hissed, starting to push the taller boy from the room. A bit shocked, Jean almost let him, but ultimately grabbed the blond's wrists, effectively making him stop.

                "What do you mean you're a girl? Talk to me," Jean said, lowering his voice.

                "I was born a girl but I wanted to be seen as someone stronger and guys are supposed to be strong so I tried passing as one. And I was able to get away with it during training but things happened and Eren told me to start bandaging. And now you're probably going to hate me for lying--" Armin rushed, covering his face in his hands.

                "Is that what you think? Honestly, Armin, for someone so smart you sure don't have a lot of faith in yourself. Might not be strong physically, but you're strong in a different and equal way," Jean interrupted. "And I'm never going to hate you, so you can get that out of your mind right now."

                "You're going to tell the others aren't you?" Armin sighed.

                "No, not if you don't want me to. I'm just saying that no one would see you as weak if you're a girl. Look at Mikasa, and Hanji, and--"

                "Okay! I get the point. I didn't realise that when I was younger, and I've been passing as a guy for so long, I didn't even think to go back to who I was born as."

                "Perhaps its time?" Jean suggested, earning a head nod from Armin.

                A pause.

                "Anyway! That's not why I came here. I wanted to talk to you about something else actually. I might as well be blunt about it, considering its me. I was wondering, I like you a lot and I wanted to know if you would be my boy--ah, girlfriend," the taller boy said quietly, blushing slightly.

                "Yeah, I'd like that," Armin nodded, taking his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments by whom the drabble was written for:
> 
> "Thank you dear!"


	22. A Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Note: Nu Pogodi was a TV show airing in the Soviet Union, based off of Roadrunner and Tom & Jerry. The idea is that the wolf is always chasing the rabbit and the rabbit eludes him every time. The rabbit came to symbolize the good citizen of the Soviet Union while the wolf was the ideal of resistance to Soviet expectations for people. Of course, the wolf was the most beloved, as 9/10 children preferred the wolf to the rabbit.

_Moscow, 1983_

            The May Day Parade in Moscow had to be a cause of celebration of upmost prestige; it was for the loyal workers of the great Soviet Union after all. The streets of the major city were roped off, entrance through them saved only for the higher members of the Communist party. An excited but thinned out crowd pass through several checkpoints to the parade itself, children and adults rather impatient for the event to begin.

            For all the checkpoints and delays, the parade was worth the wait. Banners with the hammer and sickle marking them were found everywhere, tainting the icy world with red. Troops clad in grey and gold line the city square, all in perfect rank. Though all unauthorized vehicles are barred from entering, the ones that do drag a cheer from the crowd and even the soldiers. Two diplomats in high positions find their way into the square in limousines, saluting the troops and being answered with greetings.

            “Ooooo-RAH! Ooooo-RAH!” echoes through the streets, being the military cadence to greet the diplomats. The soldiers march in orderly ranks, the missiles and tanks move into view and the crowd cheers. And then it is the workers turn, banners in hand and showing off festive floats.

            A six year old called Jean Kirschtein accompanies his father, stepping out of one of the limousines nervously. He has been to a few of his father’s political parties before, but never has he seen so many people in one place. The cheers of the soldiers, the workers, the crowd, they all deafen him and it takes all of his self-restraint to not tremble as he peers around. Jean looks towards the workers carrying banners, his attention caught by the ornate decorations and positive slogans. His grasp on his father’s hand slipping, he squints to read what the banners read.

            “’We Put the Decisions of the 25th Party Congress into Reality’, ‘All Power to the Soviet’s, ‘We Are the First to Build Communism’,” he reads aloud. Even the larger words sound familiar, as his father constantly talks about what a great country the Soviet Union is and how lucky they are to be under the rule of Communism. Most of the time there seems to be a bitter undertone in his father’s voice when he speaks of such things, but that is only in private so Jean never points it out to him.

            The young boy looks back to his father, golden eyes wide, as he takes in his father’s formidable silhouette. At first he is intimidated, seeing his father as a cold politician only interested in strangers, but in a moment the man looks down to Jean and smiles, coaxing a smile out of Jean as well.

            “There are many other children here; you should go talk to them. Tell them how this will be an event to never forget,” his father suggests, pulling his hand from the boy’s grasp and nudging him towards the crowd. The diplomat moves towards the foreign visitors he must greet, knowing that Jean will easily find him on the steps of the Mausoleum.

            Mr. Kirschtein was correct: many children attended the parade. The adults knew that the children would remember the parade for the rest of their lives and hoped that their grandchildren would someday experience the same excitement. Racing under the red banners and deafened by the cheers and reverberating music, Jean weaved his way through the crowd. He wasn’t exactly interested in talking to the other children; he certainly didn’t enjoy talking to others. His father said time and again that this was because he was too shy to talk and that he would have to drop the act at some point. One couldn’t avoid others in the Soviet Union, for the people are unified.

            Lost in the sea of people, Jean looks around, turning his frame to take in a full view. Searching for a new direction to run in was his top priority – or was. For a moment he caught the eye of a brunet boy sitting atop the shoulders of his father, and Jean froze. Hesitantly, he approached the man, finding the gaze of the other boy once more, feeling a stir of familiarity overcome him. He couldn’t quite place where he had seen those large brown eyes, but he knew he had seen them before.

            “Papa, let me down,” the brunet boy requested, tugging on his father’s shirt. The stocky, freckled man laughed and set him down, and the boy sprinted over to Jean. Smiling brightly, he waved at the diplomat’s son and introduced himself with, “Privet! I’m Marco Bodt. Who are you?”

            Drawing his shoulders up proudly Jean answered, “I’m Jean Kirschtein, the son of our nation’s great minister of defence.” He usually wasn’t this confident when talking to others without his parents by his side, but Marco just seemed so welcoming and kind that showing his pride seemed natural.

            “Whoa! Really? You must be pretty great, Jean! My papa is just a worker, but he’s a good one! He’s very loyal to our Communist government and everything,” Marco chirped, leaning forward.

            “So is my father. He says that we will remember this parade for a very long time to come.”

            “I bet he’s right; there are so many events going on today. And I heard there are a lot of people from other countries here today, too. The whole word will probably remember our parade!”

            “So did you see the new episode of _Nu Pogodi_? It’s great, isn’t it, seeing the wolf work so hard to chase the rabbit?” Jean started after a moment of stilled conversation. “My favourite character is the rabbit because he’s like my father, a good citizen of our country. Who’s yours?”

            “I like the wolf best, because he tries so hard but he can never achieve what he desires,” Marco nodded. “But the rabbit is a very good character too.”

            “You know, my father mentioned that someone tried to change the show once to be more political. I’m glad they didn’t,” the diplomat’s son sighed.

            “Oh, I should probably get back to my papa. I promised I would help him with the float. I guess I’ll see you around… Or perhaps not, you _are_ a big shot’s son after all. I wish you all the luck in the world, Jean!” Marco waved to Jean and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Jean speechless.

            With ears unable to hear the joyful cheers of the attendees and eyes closed to the excitement before him, Jean trudged back toward the Mausoleum. In his mind, he replayed the scene between him and the brunet boy, memorizing his name. He spent the day in a daze and wrote Marco’s name down the minute he returned home so that he would never forget the boy’s name.

            _1995_

            The Soviet Union had fallen, along with his father’s credibility. Jean dug the piece of paper he had written Marco’s name on from his notebook, even though he had already memorized the name.

            “I think it’s time I find you, Marco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments by person for whom this drabble was written:
> 
> "Loved it, thanks so much."


	23. Her

                Sharpened knife in hand, Connie stood the small chunk of wood on the table and glanced once more at the pattern beside him. Several other of his works lined the shelves of his bedroom, finely detailed and smoothed. It could take him hours to set the basic outline or it could take him mere minutes, and this is one that took the former. There was no way he would screw up this piece.

                A slip of paper at his side depicted the scene he was setting out to carve, though it was still incomplete. There were details he knew were still missing that he couldn't quite remember. But he had to press on anyways, so he hoped against hope that he would remember what was missing before he got to that point in the carving process. The scene flashing in his dreams wouldn't abandon his mind, his attention, but instead haunted him. It was one of those rare snapshots that your mind will give you that you just can't forget, because it is so captivating. For many people, this scene is happy and lighthearted, one where they felt utter ecstasy simply by its memory. But for the majority, it is one that haunts the soul and waking day. And it is this type of fabricated image that drowned Connie in concern and need.

                Concern for the girl dodging trees as she attempted escape from the monster on her heels. Need because there was no rest designated for him until he knew what happened to the distant girl that he knew nothing and yet everything about.

                The distant girl that had stalked many of his other dreams, either purely in silhouette or in great detail with her brown eyes shining and her red lips pulled into a smile or grimace. And yet, these were the dreams that bothered Connie even more so than the former, for he never could remember her fully when he awoke. What was left was a misconception of the girl, her beauty and emotions obviously flawed and differing from the original.

                And it was this empty slate in what she looked like that kept the boy from finishing his illustration, even though he had remembered the rest.

                It was, however, necessary to him that he pressed on with his wood carving. He had to depict the scene somehow, had to bring it to life in some way and from there discover if she survived.

                With the scene in mind he put the knife down, and retreated to sleep when the full moon had positioned itself high in the dark sky. Next to his bedside was the illustration and a pencil, just in case he could jot down her face before he lost the memory. He had been doing this for days, weeks, hoping to capture the scene, though so far this had been futile.

                Hours passed, the nightmares of her and the monsters returned, and he sat bolt upright in his bed and immediately snatched up the pencil. Messy lines and a slur of curses from not being able to see well simply by the light of his alarm clock resulted in a portrait just clear enough that he would be able to use it later.

                This last statement converted to a fact the following afternoon when Connie cleaned up the illustration and incorporated into his carving. Days of structuring, detailing, and perfecting, and he had brought to life the dream that had haunted him from time immemorial.

                But don't mistake who Connie is; he is not some poor boy left alone with his nightmares. He is popular at school and can be a bit of a show off with the art he creates. Picking up from stereotypes in cartoons, he had concluded that wood carving was the manliest art possible years ago and he took every opportunity to showcase his talent.

                "Top that, loser," Connie smirked, setting his newest work down in front of Marco. He had obviously not gotten enough sleep the night before, most likely due to his adding the final details to the carving, but in the crisp morning he was working just fine off of adrenaline.

                Marco leaned closer in, peering at the carefully etched figure of the girl. "How did you get her so life like? I mean, I have trouble doing that level of detail in my illustrations, but you were actually able to do that on wood. That's amazing, Connie! Jean, look."

                Jean rolled his eyes and pushed the brunet out of the way so that he could see whatever Connie was so proud of. Raising an eyebrow, he scoffed at the work and looked up at the artist. "Wow, Connie, I knew you were a creep but this is ridiculous. What the hell possessed you to carve my neighbour?"

                "Your... neighbour?" Connie repeated, his breath hitched in his throat.

                "Yeah, Sasha, she lives down the street from me. I mean, she goes to another school so I don't know how you were able to get her so detailed. Rather stalkerish."

                "Sasha..." Connie repeated, looking away. "Introduce her to me."

_She's the one my nightmares showed me. Sasha..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments by person for whom this drabble was written for:
> 
> "Thank you! I forgot about that, but this was amazing. I teared up, thank you!"
> 
> Also I want to thank you all for the hits and kudos. I wasn't expecting to get much feedback since these all are just disconnected drabbles and all. So thank you!


	24. For the Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Jeanmarco  
> Triggers: Suicidal Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised that suicidal intentions are kind of a mature thing so I'm changing the rating on this.

                He pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes, trying to wake himself up a bit. He had a knack of staying up until all hours of the night, writing or playing video games or just daydreaming. But this was one of those days where concentration left him, where he was completely content in simply staring at the wall and letting his mind go blank. Why this happened at times was beyond him, though his best guess was that he was exhausted after a rather emotional day and his body was compensating for it. Though, it was rather odd to him that he wasn't even in the mood to get online.

                And so he paced his apartment, the iPod set on the speakers quietly playing Bright Eyes and some other random bands. Music always calmed the nerves, always helped him screen out the world, and that is exactly what he needed.

                "I just don't know what the goal in my life is anymore," he sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. Shutting his liquid gold eyes, he leaned against the wall acting as the threshold between his kitchen and living room and slid down to the floor.

                Earlier that day had not been much better, and the only good thing that he could truly say came from it, was that he got to see Marco. Everything else was either meaningless or just reminded him of how terrible he was at life.

                "You, er, you haven't had any nightmares recently, have you?" he had asked the other boy, rather awkwardly to say the least.

                "No, not in months. Why?" Marco responded, glancing at him.

                Silence.

                "You've been getting them more often. Is that what's bothering you?" The brunet boy paused. "I can tell when you're upset, Jean, you're not that hard to read. You're quieter than usual and its not like you to not be ranting about something. Today there is silence, just like all the other days you have those stupid nightmares."

                Jean groaned, choking out a chuckle at the brunet's comment on his personality. Running his fingers through his hair he continued, "They just keep getting worse. And its always the same things. There's either someone trying to kill me or _you_ die, and I don't like either of those options. Especially not the former. But I can't stop them."

                "Well, do you have any idea what your dreams mean?"

                "You know, I must be really unique, because none of the meanings I can find online really match what I dream of," he scoffed. "All I can find is that my being murdered has to do with my trying to change myself drastically. Though, someone different comes after me every time, anything from monsters to men."

                "Monsters? You mean like the kind that Eren guy always goes on about?" Annie raised an eyebrow.

                "Yeah, exactly like them actually. That could probably just mean I've been listening to him too much," Jean brushed off, blatantly ignoring the fact that he had dreamed of the monsters before meeting Eren.

                "Okay... Well, let's just focus on what we can fix. Since sleeping pills don't work, there's not much else you can do but try and fix the reason of why you're having the dreams. What are you trying to change about you that's so drastic that your dream self has to go and get himself murdered?"

                Jean paused for a long moment, biting his lip. "Everything."

                "Everything is kinda hefty. Can you be more specific?"

                "No. I mean, everything is the simplest thing to say. I don't know how to say it fully. But I feel as though I've messed up really bad in life. Like I've made the wrong choices and need a do over. Its like I missed the turn I was supposed to take or something. But I don't know _what I did wrong_. And it frustrates me, because it seems like its something so fundamental in who I am and its wrong. Just wrong. It was completely the opposite of what I was supposed to go for. Don't you ever get that feeling? That you messed your whole life up?" His voice gradually became more pleading as he pressed on, and his eyebrows furrowed over shining eyes trying to hold back tears, but press on he did.

                "No, Jean, I've never felt like that. And if I ever had a chance of thinking such a horrendous thing, it would have been terminated the moment I met you," Marco object softly, his entire being radiating concern.

                The smaller boy swallowed and nodded, looking away so that the brunet did not catch onto the hint of tears in his eyes. Clearing his throat and assuring himself that his voice was stable enough to talk without cracking, he whispered, "Because I feel like I messed up a lot of things and missed my chance."

                Marco grimaced, his stomach dropping as he listened to Jean continue. He knew Jean was prone to depression and his usual nightmares, but this terrified him to his very core. To find out that the person you love most in the world feels so awful about themselves is not something one copes with easily, but the brunet was strong and he knew he would stick by Jean's side through everything.

                "I don't know what makes you say that when you're such a beautiful person to me, Jean. To me, there is nothing wrong with you. But I know that doesn't change anything. All I can offer you is the advice that you should try and find a goal in life, your centre. Realise what you want to do, what you want at all, and go for it. And I'll be here every step of the way to hold your hand," Marco soothed, clasping Jean's hand in his gently.

                Choking back a sob, he threw his arms around Marco's neck, burrowing his head in the other's shoulder. There were no words ready for him at the tip of his tongue, no rant to plead for more support. There was but silence, only lighter this time.

                Jean threw his head back, careful not to hit the wall behind him. Looking towards the ceiling, he replayed his day with Marco in his mind again and again, running through each minute detail until he was exhausted. His mind clear, his emotions numbing, he cast aside the feeling of futility that he had just moments earlier.

                "I may not have a fancy goal, but I got the best one in the world. No matter what, I will go out of my way to make a life with Marco and we'll be safe and sound."

                Sighing in satisfaction of this goal that should have been obvious the whole time, he pushed the knife he had retrieved when he had gotten home away. A few thoughts had crossed his mind of what he should do with the knife, but these immediately dissipated, and he smiled wanly.

                "There's no more use for those thoughts. Like my nightmares said, its time to get rid of those tendencies and make a change. For the better."


	25. Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Jeanmarco  
> Triggers: None
> 
> If you read the first paragraph correctly, its a poem.

 

_For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes_

_Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

_And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side_

_Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,_

_In her sepulchre there by the sea—_

_In her tomb by the sounding sea._

  
_  
_-Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe

 

                The sun cast its last golden light, illuminating the earth, and the zephyr entranced the small leaves of the flowing tree to dance so that their shadows may play with the sunlight upon the ground, creating the reflection into a world both shallower and deeper than our own. A rough trunk with tan bark, pitted by marks and scars, that stretched its branches towards the pale blue sky and dipped its roots into the dusty earth. Dark green grass with a crease off centre, sinewy and with the capability to be torn asunder in thin strips by nimble fingers, rushed up to meet the tree, just stopped short of the trunk, for even the multitude of blades could not swallow the sleeping roots. Above the sky was a colourful palette that denoted the twilight, one ranging from violet to the pinks and oranges of the streaks abandoned on the horizon by the red sun. Though a couple of birds trilled in the branches overhead but for a few moments, and the wind instructed the wood to creak under its weight, to those who hearkened to the world at that moment, it could only be likened to a tranquil silence.

                His legs kicked out before him and his hands supporting his weight as he leaned back, Jean restlessly plucked the longest blade of grass he could find and sat up slightly, tearing the blade into slender ribbons before throwing it away disinterestedly and not even halfway through. A moment’s pause, and he repeated these actions, tossing a second blade next to the first before Marco could grab his wrists and stop him from repeating once more.

                "You know, it’s not particularly nice to tear apart the grass like that. How would you like it if someone did that to you?" the brunet boy chided, assuming a mature air in his efforts to tease the other.

                "Well sorry, I'm just a bit bored, okay? Why did you want us to come out here anyway? We're missing dinner," Jean groaned. Though he enjoyed spending time with Marco, this was certainly _not_ what he had in mind as far as an entertaining day goes. Sitting in the rather uncomfortable grass to look at a scene he could find anywhere was unappealing.

                "Because I wanted to watch the sunset with you." Marco's voice was tinged with disappointment.

                So why was Marco in such need to watch the sunset every time they got the chance?

                Finishing the thought just as the brunet clarified his intent; Jean sighed and looked at Marco. "Yes but _why_ Marco? I'm not in the mood for games right now."

                The taller boy kept silent for a long moment, pulling himself to his feet and stepping forward to the edge of the tree's shadow. "When I was little my papa told me that even the little things could tell a lot about someone. I was always so apt to watch the sun set when the world was the most peaceful, so he told me I had a tranquil soul, one that could watch beauty for hours when most couldn't for a minute. I guess I was just trying to see if you had something similar to me; instead you seem to be the opposite."

                "What's wrong with my being your opposite in something?" Jean raised an eyebrow and stood up, joining Marco's side.

                "It means that you won't understand me as well as I wanted you to."

                The shorter boy scoffed at this notion. "Just because we're opposites doesn't mean I can't understand you. I mean, what if I was a 'tranquil soul', too, only for a far different reason? You watch the sunset because you view it as something beautiful, only I don't see it the same way, because I've found something far more beautiful in life." His voice was steady but quiet, a rustle to match the leaves taken possession by the wind, and he rested his head on Marco's shoulder as he finished. "No, I understand you perfectly, Marco."

                The brunet smiled softly and leaned his head against Jean's, taking the hint. The sun now vanished from their sight, having slipped below the horizon moments earlier, they stayed silent for a few more minutes before heading back to the camp and bed.

                Jean shifted in his sleep and smiled, perhaps for the first time in days, weeks, maybe even in months, though he wasn't aware of this event. The light pouring in through the windows dragged him from slumber, willing him to sit up.

                "Oi, Marco," he mumbled as he was want to do. Since he was the one who usually woke up first, he had taken the responsibility for waking up his friend. Not hearing any response he repeated, "Wake the hell up, Marco."

                Finally growing frustrated and about to rant on how difficult it was to wake the brunet up, Jean looked beside him. Only, instead of the sleeping figure he had always woken up to, there was an empty space with the white sheets pulled from the bunk and the possessions absent. There was no easy grin brightening Marco's already sweet face, no good morning coming from the sweet-tempered boy, no teasing comments on Jean's bedhead or excited instructions to hurry and get up so that they could have some time to themselves before they had to report.

                Only, instead of the gentle smile that would continue to grace Jean's lips, there was a swift tugging of his lips into a frown as his smile vanished. Only, instead of the comfort and merriment that usually gleamed Jean's golden eyes, there was a hollow emptiness and the hint of a fierce determination. Only, instead of the lively pink blush adorning his cheeks, there was a paleness as he felt his blood run cold.

                Only, instead of the pure ecstasy he had felt before every time he woke up to his dearest friend, there was a dull ache and sorrow as he remembered that Marco was gone, and that his dream was just a dream, and that it had occurred to him throughout the night because the memory of his dearest friend could never wholly abandon him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at the awesome feedback I got!!!
> 
> "I’m gonna scream, this is really sad, my heart dropped at the end, but alas, our Marco is gone ; n ;
> 
> but also, my gosh, you are very talented in literature ;;; I loved it alot, even if it made me a bit sad. <3
> 
> thank you aaahhhh"


	26. Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Eremin  
> Verse: modern AU

              In high school you're expected to read books by dead guys, regardless if you're interested in them or not. And though I resented having to read most of them,  _The_   _Great Gatsby_  was one of those books that somehow had an effect on me. Well, I didn't actually  _finish_  the book per say, but the author did write a pretty good opening:

                “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

                My teacher told us what Fitzgerald meant by "advantages", how this included race, sex, orientation, religion, and the one that seemed most logical to me at the time, wealth. I was a pretty fortunate kid, I regret not appreciating that when I was younger, especially now. I got to grow up in a middle class family, we had everything we needed and though my parents could be a bit over protective, at least I wasn't abused. Hell, my parents even helped me pay my rent so that I didn't need a roommate and only had to work a part time job.

                But the point is, I found someone who completes me in a rather unlikely place.

                With loans and some help from my parents, I was able to attend a fairly nice university and not worry too much about tuition costs. A lot of the other students were seriously concerned over the cost, especially with the horror story that is taking out loans with interest. Even with that, as far as I was concerned, smart people got into university and it was only idiots that didn't go, that's the impression they give you in high school and why would they lie? No, anyone who didn't even bother to make something out of their lives with university education and all that was below me.

                So I went to a pretty nice state university with my adoptive sister, Mikasa, and some other friends of mine, Reiner and Bertholdt and the rest. I was able to go to enough parties with my free time that I built up some resistance up for the cheap alcohol always present. Things were all right.

                At some point in December, when the temperatures were starting to really drop and snow dusted the ground, there was a before-winter-break party among my group. I was picked to go get the beer and whatever else was requested so off I went to the corner store on my way to Reiner's. I do remember it being particularly cold that day, enough to where I wore a beanie along with my thicker coat.

                It was when I was stepping up onto the sidewalk to the store that I saw him. Shivering in a worn jacket and cheeks and nose red from the biting cold, he sat up against the brick wall, a sign tilted up by thin legs he had tucked up to his chest. Next to him were a couple of pristine stacks of books, in perfect order with well-known titles on each spine. The sign he had was simple enough, scrawling black marker on white cardboard, reading:

                "Free book review; selling them for a low price

                or

                I'll tell you a story with a happy ending for a low price"

                My hands shoved deep into my pockets with a pang of regret over having forgotten gloves, I stopped to read his sign. When he noticed me he immediately jumped up, putting the sign aside, and explained, "I'll give you a book review and if you like the book I'm selling them or if you want I--"

                "Save it," I stated briefly, holding up my hand. "How much are the books?"

                "Oh, er, five dollars a book and I have some twenty books I believe," he started, turning back to count.

                "Here, I was going to spend this on poker tonight with the others but I'll sit it out," I muttered, pulling out my wallet and handing him a few twenty dollar bills. His bright blue eyes widened in disbelief and joy and took the money hesitantly. Jumping slightly when he remembered the deal, he went to grab one of the stacks of books.

                "I'll help you carry them," he offered, his voice rushed. I stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention.

                "No, dude, I'm not that much of a reader. Let's just say I bought these for you for Christmas."

                I was about to turn away, to get what I came to the store for and get going, but a curiosity that had been building up since I first laid eyes on the street-side vendor made me stay for another moment. It’s just, there was something really familiar about him. He had this hair the colour of sunshine, a shimmering gold that fell into his eyes and dripped onto his shoulders. His eyes were a phenomenon or something, there's no way someone could have eyes the exact colour of the calm ocean, but god were they beautiful, bright and hopeful, dreamer eyes. Overall he was a pretty small guy, narrow shoulders and obviously shorter than me. Somehow that worn blue coat fit him perfectly, though, and it just emphasized on how handsome he was.

                "Tell me, what's your name?" I asked before he could protest to his keeping the money and books.

                "A-armin Arlert."

                "You look about my age. Any reason why you're out on the streets doing this?"

               He cleared his throat and looked away, making me regret asking him instantly. But he answered anyway, "When I was little my parents died and I went to live with my grandfather. We were pretty poor so I started working when I could, but he joined my parents not long afterwards and I lost my job when the business closed. I've been doing my best to get by, selling my parents' books and stuff."

                I don't know about anyone else, but when things like this happen in life, I'm able to relate them to quotes or stories, even if I heard them years ago. I think it’s mostly just my mind finally fully understanding the quote. But anyway, when he told me his story, I thought of that line in  _The Great Gatsby_  I read years ago. That father was absolutely right: this kid didn't have the same advantages, but that sure as hell didn't make him my inferior. If anything he seemed like my superior in intelligence, he just had that look about him.

                So I did the only thing I could think to do: give a sympathetic nod and wait a moment before speaking. Only he spoke first.

                "I told you my name, tell me yours."

                "Eren Jaeger."

                "Well, Eren Jaeger, thank you for the money. I suppose you need to get to poker?" Now, I'm pretty sure I saw a look of loneliness in Armin's eyes at the thought of me leaving. He denies it now, but this kid had no one in the world, I'm just flattered he liked talking to me.

                "Yeah, come on, you're coming with me. Just need to grab some things from the store and then we're off," I offered, taking a few of the books under the crook of my arm and leading him to my car.

                I'm still not entirely sure what made me invite him so quickly, to hand him the money in the first place. Maybe it was the familiarity I felt for him or how undeserving this kid was of having no home. Either way there was no way I was going to leave him behind. And it certainly wasn't something I regret. On the way to Reiner's he told me all about how he wanted to see the ocean someday, to see the world. And we got along and understood each other better than I ever could have imagined, I mean, I had never gotten along with anyone so well. I swear that by the end of the night we were best friends.

                There was no way I was going to just dump him off back on the streets, so I had him spend the night, and he cleared away the loneliness that drove me out of my apartment and to parties so frequently. I was able to dig up some of my old clothes for him, and he read  _The Great Gatsby_  to me since he had it. I was able to get him a job where I work and he split rent with me so I'm no longer relying on my parents. And let me tell you, he's the best roommate a guy could have.

                I'll spare you the details, but as you may have noticed from my earlier hints, Armin and I ended up more than friends. Really, ignoring that guy's charm is just inhuman, unnatural, and I'm a sucker for the blond. We're pretty happy together.

                But anyway, don't judge anyone for stuff like wealth, they may end up being a friend - or you know, your soul mate.


	27. Walczyć, Nie Sutikti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: occupied Poland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lithuania and Poland were fighting because Poland wanted some Lithuanian land where a bunch of Poles were living and Lithuania was like no and then Germany invaded for WW2. So Lithuania sided with the Nazis while Poland resisted, and a couple of years later Lithuania massacred a bunch of Poles that were living in Lithuania and published pamphlets saying that Poles were worse than Jews. Translating it is kind of rough so when speaking Lithuanian Levi says: "Hello class, from now on I'll be teaching class in Lithuanian" and Armin says "I've heard that order, sir, though I don't see why; Lithuanian-Polish tensions were already high." The title means "Fight, Not Acquiesce", the first two words are in Polish and the last in Lithuanian.  
> The Shinganshina trio were living in Lithuania but after the massacre they fled, though Eren's mum wasn't so lucky.

                His position in front of the classroom was not his first choice in career exactly, but every day he swallowed his impatient nature towards the naive students and droned away in his lectures. He wasn't particularly fond of teaching the same things over and over, but it was worth it since this was the closest he could get to his preferred job while the war was still raging. It was worth it because he was still helping the resistance effort as best he could. And it was especially worth it because, instead of having to teach the slower children, Levi got the higher class comprised of the kids of higher grades and greater motivation, the ones ready to take his order to fight against the occupation.

                "Sveiki, klasė. Gavau užsakymus, kad nuo šiol, esu mokyti lietuvių kalba," Levi greeted, throwing his leather briefcase onto the shabby desk he had received.

                Prior to the war, in his actual career of working with Poland's military force as a leader, he made a considerable amount of money, enough to have some luxuries. But when the country came under occupation, he had to go into hiding since he was a part of the government. He was able to salvage a few of his belongings, though most of his former life was lost as he went into hiding. The man above him in command, Erwin Smith, was quick to find him and some of his comrades’ positions in the resistance far away from any suspicion of who they might be. Of course, considering their skill, they were assigned to help gear the youth of the resistance towards helping the Underground army and lead in many of the operations. They were leaders in the military and of the future soldiers, and as far as Levi was concerned, that made up for his losing many of his past luxuries and preferred job.

                It was odd, to say the least, to be taking order from the Nazi officers too, but they were few and far in between and not easily enforced. The lack of force in these laws over the schooling of Poles, of course, is why Levi was able to teach students that should have already lost their right to an education due to their age. He did follow some of the orders briefly, mostly in mocking the Nazis and prompting the students to fight back, to protest. And so, when the Nazis, in hopes of creating tension between the Poles and Lithuanians to avert any organised rebellion, issued the order for all schools to teach in Lithuanian, Levi played along. He knew Hanji wouldn't bother, too outraged by the command in the first place to stop her rants of the Germans and Soviet Union, but he was rather interested in seeing if any of the students could actually understand Lithuanian.

                "Mm why does he tease us like this? What is he even saying?" Jean muttered under his breath, covering his mouth with his hand. He glanced around the room and noticed most of them had a similar look of confusion, most of them, except for those three.

                "Girdėjau apie tą užsakymą, sere. Nors aš nematau, kodėl; Lietuvos-Lenkijos įtampa jau buvo aukštos," Armin piped up, furrowing his eyebrows. Taking a look around at the confused faces around him, he frowned and translated, "Levi says that from now on he must teach the class in Lithuanian. The Germans ordered us to so that the Lithuanians and Poles are driven further apart. If we work together, we can overthrow them, but instead the Germans make us resent to Lithuanians. Though, considering the massacre the Lithuanians committed on the Poles recently in their country, I don't think that's necessary."

                "Wait, you can't be serious, sir? You're not going to teach all of our classes in Lithuanian from now on, right?" Connie asked, leaning forward.

                "Of course not, what would be the point? We're here to make sure you get your diplomas and are up to date on the resistance. What good am I if you can't understand me?" Levi scoffed, leaning back against his desk.

                "So we're going to do something about the Nazi orders, right? I mean, this is ridiculous! When we left, the Lithuanians were helping the Germans kill us off and saying that we are worse than Jews! How can we step aside and let them do this to us?" Eren growled, standing up.

                "Eren, calm down, Poland will survive, always has. We survived the partitions and the Great War, we can survive this," Armin argued, forcing the brunet boy back down into his seat. "Our country is called the phoenix for a reason."

                "Technically we were in Lithuania," Mikasa droned next to the blond, remembering well why the Lithuanians were so resentful of the Poles in the first place.

                "Gah, will you three be quiet? Sir, what are we planning to do about the Germans?" Connie piped up once more.

                "Perhaps nothing, come on Connie, we can't take on the Germans," Jean counterattacked calmly.

                "My mother didn't die in the massacre for you to put down our forces. We have an Underground military and government, we have another government in Britain, we've even carried out missions against these bastards! How can you liken us to being defenceless when our being in this class is an act of defiance?" Eren growled.

                Levi rapped his knuckles against his desk then. "Quiet. Can't believe you brats can talk so much. Of course we're carrying out a plan; you're not part of the Grey Ranks for nothing. You're especially not here under my leadership for nothing. We'll push the Germans out of our country, just be patient."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment by whom drabble was written for:
> 
> "This is absolutely amazing! You were right, too, I did appreciate the history factor in this AU. You have amazing writing skill (as if you didn’t know that already!), and I have high respects for you writing the drabble at all, I didn’t expect to get anything. Thank you very much!"


	28. Tolo ar nin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship: Eremin  
> Verse: Lord of the Rings AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble contains a few references to deeper knowledge on the world Tolkien built, most of which should be rather explanatory. Though: Morgoth was this Ainur (immortal spirit) that ended up rather evil and he was basically the one who taught Sauron. And Valinor is the name of the land the elves lived in before coming to Middle Earth.  
> For the Elvish I used Sindarin (which I don't think is actually accurate because Quenya was more common if I remember correctly, but I couldn't find the phrase for "I love you" in Quenya so...) and you can find translations [here](http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/elvish/phrases.html):  
> \- Tolo ar nin: Come with me  
> \- Calanon: name translation for 'Aaron'  
> \- Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn: A star shines on the hour of our meeting.  
> \- Daugion: name translation for 'Armand' (meaning 'of the army', which is the closest I could find)  
> \- Gi Melin: I love you  
> \- Savo 'lass a lalaith: Have joy and laughter  
> \- Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham: My heart shall weep until I see you again  
> \- Guren glassui: Thank you from my heart  
> Also as clarification: in the AU the titan shifters can be taken as those from Gondor and the Scouting Legion (with exceptions like Armin) can be taken as the Rohirrim.

            Rushing was not something that their kind did often, it was just never necessary. Or that is, haste hadn’t been needed since the olden days when their forefathers, and even some of those still walking Middle Earth, fought against the old villains like Morgoth and Sauron. Back then, battle was often and travel was a given, acts to be carried out swiftly. But those were the old days, there was no prompt to worry – yet.

            Armin walked the stone hallways furnished with art and history, finding his way to the library where an extensive collection of manuscripts were stored. Just as he was rounding the corner to face the towering doors leading into the room a couple of maidens and lads rushed out into the hallway, heading towards the staircase to the main halls. Taken aback, the blond caught up with them.

            “Tell me, what has happened that is so exciting?” Armin asked, pushing the thoughts of the library out of his mind. He could work his way through the manuscripts anytime, but it was very rarely that anything out of the ordinary occurred. Not to say there was no excitement; there were always the daily feasts and celebrations. However, everything was just too fast-paced for this to be common, for he now noticed several others traipsing through the maze of hallways as he now was.

            “Have you not heard? There are men here to visit us. There is word that they carry news of Mordor,” the brunet next to him breathed, dark eyes aglow with wonder. The elder elves were not so thrilled for foreigners, of course, but the younger generations like Armin’s were witnessing changes in the world and were trying to keep up.

            “Men? What business would they have here?” the blond pondered, skipping down the last few stone skips and coming to the halls a few others had already gathered at.

            Armin forced himself to the forefront of the thin crowd – thin in comparison to how many attended the nightly merrymaking – and looked on to the foreigners. Having chosen to stay far from politics and instead been set on acquiring wisdom through study, it was rare that he was interested in greeting visitors, especially since foreigners were few and far in between until recently.

            Blue eyes wide with curiosity, he regarded the travel worn travellers that had arrived on their doorstep. The men were clad in black tunics, embroidered with the white tree of Gondor, and at the forefront a tall but thin man stood. Choppy brown hair framed his tan face and his eyes were a bright green, clearly marked with determination and vigour. At his waist was a finely crafted sword, the sheath hiding all but the hilt. From where he was positioned, the elf could clearly see where blood had stained the sheath during battle and had been neglected to be removed. It did not take much, just the observation of a few crude habits that the brunet seemed to have, to make Armin view him with disdain.

            “Men of Gondor, we welcome you to Rivendell,” a pale blond elf greeted, one of those higher in status. “Do rest before you relay the news you carry.”

            At this much of the crowd dispersed, whisperings followed that it would probably be announced that evening in front of the hearth. Rather put off by this sudden decline in interest by the others, Armin followed the path the older elf had led the men on. If it had been any other welcoming the men of Gondor he would have refrained from this, but this was his father leading, and surely he would have no objection.

            Lingering at the doorway, Armin waited to catch his father’s eyes, deftly smoothing out the knots that tied his light hair back. With a nod from him after a moment he slipped to his father’s side and awaited his father’s word.

            “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, but since you are,” his father started as he stepped closer to the brunet Armin had been scrutinising earlier, “we have guests from Gondor. The man who leads them is Calanon, or in his language, Eren.”

            “Le suilon, Calanon!” Armin greeted with a smile to the green eyed man. “I am Daugion, Armin in your language, I believe.”

            “Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn, Daugion,” Eren grinned, standing up and clapping the blond on the shoulder.

            With another nod, the older elf took his leave of the two, attending to other business. Brushing off his contempt of the man, the blue eyed elf looked back to Eren. “I am surprised; you speak our tongue?”

            “As much as I can,” the brunet answered, then adding with a slight laugh, “I’ve always wanted to see Rivendell.”

            “Is that why you and your men have come?”

            “I wish it was that simple,” Eren sighed, then paused for a second. “We have been sent with news of Mordor. There are troubling times on the horizon, I assure you.”

            “So the rumours of the return of a dark force are true then?”

            “I’m afraid so.”

            A sigh escaped the blond’s lips, having been hoping against hope that this gossip was false. Change was certainly upon Middle Earth, just not pleasant change. Trying to salvage his positive view of the world, Armin mustered up a smile and looked back up at Eren. “If there is trouble coming, I have no doubt that the good people in Middle Earth can squelch this dark force. Light shall always triumph over darkness; it is just a matter of time. But please, do enjoy yourself while you are here.”

            Armin was called away as evening darkened the world, grimacing as he left the men’s presence. It was true – there was always hope – but that didn’t stop the elves from planning their return to Valinor, their abandonment of Middle Earth.

            Dazed after hearing the news the men of Gondor brought and his mind racing of possible ways this evil could be stopped, Armin wondered onto the balconies outside of the main hall to watch the moon rise.

            “It’s not the best of times, is it?” Eren sighed, stepping from the shadows of the doorway and over to the blond elf.

            “No, I suppose it’s not, but surely Middle Earth can pull through. This world was able to defeat Morgoth, and there is no doubt that it can claim victory over Sauron once more,” Armin replied quietly.

            “But in the meantime your people are leaving this land.”

            “I understand why they are returning to our home. Middle Earth is no longer our world, our home, our time has passed. Everyone can see that.” Armin fell silent for a long moment, his brilliant blue eyes on the stars overhead, the constellations that told stories he had been hearing since he was young. “But I am not leaving, not yet anyway. There is only shame in me abandoning the land I’ve known all my life so easily.”

            “But you will leave someday,” Eren observed quietly.

            “I value my home, but I also value my life. I will have to leave someday.”

* * *

 

            When looking back on the past couple of years, it became clear to Armin that he had spent most of his time by Eren’s side. He still had no clue how he could have thought the brunet to be so rudimentary when in reality he possessed charm, but the blond was rewarded for changing his mind on the man of Gondor so quickly.

            Since his arriving at Rivendell, the two had come to know each other better than they knew anyone else. They had gone to battle during the War of the Ring together, had celebrated together when a new king was crowned in the brunet’s homeland. The brunet had stood by the blue eyed elf’s side as his people left him, all the while trying to convince Armin that it would be harmful for him to say in Middle Earth for too much longer.

            “But you do not remember what I’ve told you,” the elf would protest each time. “We have died of heartbreak before, and I know I shall follow suit if I leave you now.”

            “That is a foolish reason to stay, for you would be giving up immortality if you stay on with me. If you stay here you’ll only die in sorrow.”

            “I guess that was the chance I took when I fell in love with a mortal,” Armin smiled wanly. “Though I cannot say I regret it.”

            “I can’t let you stay here, Armin. Gi melin. Just go, I beg you.”

            “If you insist, very well. But I shall not get along very well without you,” the blond sighed, finally giving in after so many arguments.

            “You will?” Eren responded in surprise. “Ah, I mean, good, it’s for the best, Armin.”

            The brunet escorted the elf to the sea not long after, doing his best to not show depression over the parting. He needed Armin to be happy and alive, and the homeland of the elves was just the place. Eren was all too aware of the blond’s imminent death that would come with him staying in Middle Earth, and so he put on a smile and bid farewell.

            “Savo 'lass a lalaith, Daugion. Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham,” he whispered as he embraced the elf one last time, making it a point to speak in his tongue.

            Running out of time, the blond stepped towards the ship and the elves waiting for the journey. And just as Eren was about to turn away in response, the elf grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked him towards the ship before there could be any protest.

            “Armin! You know I can’t go with you,” Eren exclaimed, taken in surprise.

            “Do you remember nothing of my study in strategy? Of course you’re coming with me, there was no way I would agree to leaving without knowing you were to join me,” Armin beamed, pulling him onto the wooden ship with a few greetings to the other elves.

            “Guren glassui, Daugion.”


End file.
